Be Still My Heart
by Moonrose1
Summary: Young men are found dead, there hearts torn from there chests in Ashling Michigan. The murders bear an eerie resemblance to Jack the Ripper. Holmes and Watson are called in, and the mystery begins! Can they solve the myster before they become the victi
1. Terminal and Home

The first chapter of my third story. And to imagine, I was only going to write one story! Work with me, people. As usual, I'm making this up as I go along. I was reading 'To Watery Depths', and realized that some of my info was inconsistent. Oops! Sorry about that. But I won't change it, sorry. But I think you got the general gist of it. So, I'm writing my story from Holmes' POV. This is new, huh? Also, this is very different from anything else I've ever written, so don't expect the same style as before. I think, however, that I will switch into Watson's POV after a while. I can't always write Holmes, he is extremely difficult. Have fun reading it!!!! P.S.- Happy Birthday Goth_Flutist! Hope you like my story!

Chapter One: Terminal and Home

I looked around the busy terminal and winced as people either shoved past me or rubbed against me. Contact with people I didn't know was something I did not appreciate or enjoy.

I carried a single suitcase, a simple blue one, and waited for Watson as she got her various suitcases.

Michigan. Who ever thought I would come here? I was quite happy about with my home, why should I leave for the desolate area of... Ashling was it? Watson had described it as 'a tiny town, one restaurant, one gas station, and no interesting business' to speak of'. This would be different.

"Hey Holmes. Let's go. Aunt Sophia hates waiting for people," Watson called.

Watson, my dearest friend. Her full name was Jennifer Anne Watson. She was fifteen years old, had black hair that shined, blue eyes, and was a very sweet person.

I, on the other hand, might as well be her complete opposite. Me, Sherlock Samuel Holmes, fifteen years old, with brown hair, blue eyes, and a rather cold demeanor.

"Hello, earth to Holmes? Come on, Michigan isn't that bad," Watson smiled. I smiled back at her, charmed by her kindness. Watson walked toward what I hoped to be the exit and pushed open the door.

Sunlight! It tore at my eyes, unshielded, rendering me blind. I hid my eyes instantly, allowing a small exclamation escape my lips. Watson laughed at my reaction and tossed me some sunglasses.

"Holmes, Michigan is sunny. London is rainy. You will be needing these," she grinned. I smiled weakly and looked down at the horrible sunglasses. I knew I would be bringing up an old argument but...

"Watson, have you any sunglasses that aren't purple?"

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A gaudy woman met us halfway down the sidewalk. She was, from what I could figure out, Miss Sophia Watson, age forty or so. Spends an incredible amount of leisure time jogging, all though it hadn't effected her shape in anyway.

Sophia Watson was large, to put it kindly. She wore a horrible looking green and yellow dress, with a quantity of lace surrounding it. She had dark blond hair, brown eyes with cat-eye glasses covering them, and was around 5'4. She ran up to Watson and wrapped her large arms around her.

"Jenny, baby! Darling, it's so good to see ya here! And who is your delicious friend?" Sophia asked. I felt a flush rise to my cheeks as Sophia inspected me. Watson laughed for the third time that day.

"Aunt Sophia, look what you made him do! He's blushing! His name is Sherlock Holmes. He's my best friend," I heard Watson say. All I could hear was the streets. Cars, people, airplanes. Horrible. I carefully stuck out my hand toward Sophia, praying she would shake it.

No such luck. The next thing I knew was being enveloped in two squishy things. Her arms. I stiffened and allowed my self to be hugged. After a minute or so, she put me down.

"Mr. Holmes! Tell me about yourself? Or rather, tell me about myself!" squealed Sophia. I smiled at her. Even if she was relatively annoying, she was nice, and you couldn't help but be caught up by her enthusiasm.

"I'm sure you know enough about me, but you? A challenge, I see. Let me see..." I trailed off and began circling her.

"I see in front of me Sophia Ginger Watson. She is forty one years old. She was named Sophia after her great grandmother, and Ginger after the family's dog. You are slightly scatterbrained. You have married once, only to divorce five months later. You enjoy jogging and love the Jerry Springer show. You are moderately wealthy, and live in a large house for one who lives alone. Correction, for one who lives with only her brother. You own two dogs, a French poodle named Poodlekins (A.N. Goth, you'll get a kick out of this!) and a Labrador named Fluffy. You work as a fashion designer, and occasionally go into your old fashion store. You like fine cuisine, and dine often at your local restaurant, PaPa's. You have a good friend named Lucy. How did I do?" I finished. Sophia's mouth hung open. I smiled at her reaction. Finally she cleared her throat.

"Right on every account, Mr. Holmes. Care to explain to me how you knew?" she gasped. Watson smiled at me, and I shrugged, a very American gesture I had picked up from Watson.

"Very well. Half of those things I knew from Watson here. However, I knew you had a French poodle, a red one, very rare, named Poodlekins, because their is a strand of fur upon your black coat. Red stands out against black, so I noticed it. I also saw your wallet. Inside of it is a picture poking out. I can catch a red ear and a golden muzzle. So you have two dogs. Their names? Written on the back in a slightly sloppy writing, with scratches on the dates, are the names. Poodlekins and Fluffy, November 2000. I knew you were scatterbrained because of the dates, which were originally September, October, and December, until you arrived at November as the date. Your name was told to me by Watson, but I knew you were moderately wealthy by your coat, a minx one, if I'm correct. Your shoes also broadcast a symbol of wealth. I am not familiar with the brand, but made of 100% leather, with wooden heels must be expensive. Your clothes can be bought at *********** (A.N. I don't know the actual name, and I'm not about to guess it). I knew you were married by the large diamond that sits on your middle finger. It is a wedding ring, and I know you once wore it upon your ring finger because their is a slight shadow of it. It couldn't of rested their long to have only gained a small one. In the back of your car, I see tennis shoes, with worn soles upon the toes, suggesting a great deal of walking. But walking involves your heels just as much, and as their are little to no worn areas there, one can presume you run. I already knew about Jerry Springer, but in the backseat of your car I see a great deal of carry out boxes. All marked with the names of fine restaurants. The one that appears the most is a PaPa's box, suggesting it is either your favorite, or comes with convenience, such as a nearness. And finally, about your friend, I come back to your wallet. Another picture pokes out of a purple, spike haired girl. A 'punk', is she not? And upon the back is her name, just as with your dogs. Friend Lucy, October, November, December, and finally September 2000. Do you care to correct me?" I stated. 

She merely shook her head and led us to the car which I had based half of my deductions on. Watson smiled at my slightly pleased look and opened the door for me.

"How did I do?" I whispered in passing. She kissed me briefly on the cheek and grinned.

"Oh, you've won her heart. Now let's just try to make my Dad like you," she whispered back. I tensed at the mention of her father, and prayed he wouldn't kill me.

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"Where is the boy who keeps landing my daughter in the hospital!" boomed a large, bold sounding voice. I cringed at the sound of it. A large, bold voice usually ensured a large, bold man. Watson gasped.

"DAD!" she screamed, running up the stairs.

I have heard people say that meeting the father of a girl is one of the worst experiences to go through. I had thought it ridiculous, but now I know that meeting Watson's father would be hard. At least the other boys in the world hadn't put their girlfriend in the hospital twice.

We had pulled up to a large, white house on the corner of East Main Street and Spencer Street. It had three balconies, which impressed me, and a gazebo in the backyard. It was extremely large, telling me that instead of being moderately wealthy, as I had deduced from Sophia, these people were, as the Americans say, 'rolling in the dough'.

Suddenly, a tall, balding, dark skinned man made his way down the stairs. He was huge, about four inches taller than me! I bit my tongue and hoped to God he wasn't going to kill me. The man approached me and stared down at me. I mentally shrunk, but stood my ground. Abruptly, the man laughed.

"Well, Jennifer. Your man has guts. He actually looked me in the eye! Nice to meet you. I'm Greg Watson. Call me Greg," the man thundered. I let loose the breath I had been holding and smiled politely at him.

"Yes sir. It is a pleasure to meet you," I responded automatically. I mentally slapped myself for being so... odd. But Greg laughed, to my immense pleasure.

"The boy has manners. I like that. Another day or so, though, Sherlock, and we'll be having a serious discussion about my Jennifer," Greg said seriously. I glanced over at Watson and saw her redden in the face.

"Dad... come on, you promised not to scare him away. You promised!" Watson whined. I grinned in spite of myself and walked toward Watson.

"It's all right, Watson. I suppose every boy has to hear it someday. I suppose that means I shouldn't put you in a hospital anymore," I teased. She rolled her eyes at me and smiled at her father.

"Daddy, it's great to see you again. I'm going to take Holmes up to his room, all right?"

She led me up the staircase, and the last words I heard from Greg that evening were "Don't show him too much of his room!"

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Watson slammed the door shut.

"Holmes! You shined, you positively shined! Where did you learn to do that?" she asked. I smiled at her odd question.

"Really Watson. I am English. I learned manners at an early age," I replied, setting my suitcase on the large bed. Watson rolled her eyes.

"Not the polite part, numbskull. The joking, the ease, the... well, you know. The acting like a normal boyfriend bit!" she yelled. I laughed.

"A bit of acting, a bit of observing, and a bit of adding exactly what a father would want to hear," I told her. She laughed.

"You are smooth. You are deviously smooth," she hissed. I shooed her out of my room and closed the door.

The room was a bit to large for my tastes. I was used to my attic room, in the top of my house. This room was large, much larger than I was used to. It had a great canopy bed, with blue covers and white pillows. The dresser was a copious, oak one, with seven drawers. There were two mirrors in the room, to my displeasure, and it connected to a generously proportioned bathroom. However, I was pleased to note that my room was one of the ones with a balcony. I had always been quite fond of balconies. Watson had the other balcony, right next to mine.

As I began unpacking, a thought came to me.

_How in the world am I going to survive an entire summer with the Watson family? Darn Watson, why did she have to invite me?_

It had started but a month before school ended...

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Watson came running up to me, nearly slamming into the brick wall I was leaning on. I laughed at her surprised look as she caught herself and she glared at me.

"Oh, thanks. Some friend you are," she glowered. I nodded in her direction and smiled.

"I pride myself in being a friend, yes," I responded. She rolled her eyes and tugged at the end of her black hair. She started bouncing excitedly all of a sudden and squealed.

"Ooo, Holmes, guess what!" she exclaimed. I placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her back down to the earth, to stop that annoying bouncing.

"What is it Watson?" I asked, playing along. She clapped her hands together and started dancing around in a little circle.

"I get to spend the summer with my dad, in Michigan!" she yelled. I felt my face fall and tried to recover. But it was to late, she had noticed. Watson stopped and stared at me.

"You don't want me to go?" she asked, hurt a bit. I shrugged.

"I don't mind. Why should I?" I responded, but my voice was a little strained. She smiled.

"Ah, so the great detective hasn't figured this out, huh? That is amazing," Watson said sardonically. I glared down at her. Watson smirked.

"Ah, my dear Holmes. Can't you see that I wouldn't go to Michigan without my best friend? You're coming with me, dummy!" she exclaimed. I started in amazement.

"You cannot be serious. I have my obligations here, in London. I can't just leave. The police... the crime..." I felt myself breaking down. I wanted to go, but my father would never let me go. Unless he saw it as an excuse to get me away from him. My mouth twitched into a smile and I looked at Watson.

"I will be happy to accompany you to Michigan. Although I must say that the prospect of it seems rather dreary..."

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I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

_Why in the world did I say yes? Sophia is rather gaudy, but her father is nice enough. A bit to loud for my tastes, but I can live. But how am I going to act like a 'normal' boyfriend for two months?_

Someone rapped on my door, and I permitted them entrance.

"So, Holmes," Watson said. "Ready for round two? It's dinner time."

I groaned.

So, whaddya think, huh, huh, huh? Trust me, in either chapter two or three I'll get into the mystery. But, yeah, I'll be switching into Watson's POV a lot. Holmes is hard to write. I'm not a guy, I don't know how a guy thinks (although I did play the Artful Dodger at my local theatre once...). Try to succumb to my oddness. Oh, and if anyone wants to give me info on Jack the Ripper, I'd appreciate it. 


	2. Adjusting

Second chapter! Joy and rapture. I think that I'll bring the mystery into the next chapter, however. I want Holmes to get used to Michigan for this chapter. And since I know how different Michigan is from London, I'm going to have lots of fun. Ok, officially I've never been to London, so people from England, bear with me. Let the Holmes torture commence!

Chapter Two: Adjusting 

Watson's POV:

Holmes still wasn't used to Michigan. It was rather amusing to see him refer to the trunk of a car as a boot, and such things as that. During our first week there, we took him to a McDonalds. They had them in London, but he had never eaten their before. He was amazed at the rapidness of the service, but dismayed when he saw the outcome of the food. But our second week there was the most fun.

It became obvious Holmes needed new clothes. All he had from London was sweaters, and long sleeved shirts. And pants, of course. But when it reached a ninety degree day, he was out of luck when it came to clothes.

My father noticed, as did my aunt. Aunt Sophia was all for taking him to the mall.

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"Dearie, let's take you to the mall!" Aunt Sophia announced at breakfast. Holmes dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter.

"What?!" he asked, astounded. Aunt Sophia giggled childishly.

"Turtlenecks and slacks don't bear well on a ninety degree day such as this, Sherlock. Sophia and Jenny can take you to the mall. You can buy whatever clothes you wish," my father responded. Holmes sputtered and finally raised his voice.

"Turtlenecks and slacks have always suited me!" he protested. I gently placed an arm on his shoulder.

"Oh, Holmes. Get over it. You'll die of sweat if you don't," I told him. Holmes lowered his eyes in resignation. Aunt Sophia squealed.

"Oh goodie! A few nice pink shirts, some lime green jeans..."

Holmes groaned.

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The mall was crowded today. The people pressed against us at all sides.

Aunt Sophia had driven me and Holmes to the Lakeland mall in Detroit. Holmes had insisted that she not stay, and practically shoved her back into the car, telling her to pick us up in an hour or two. As he started walking towards the mall, I told her five hours would be enough.

I looked at Holmes, who looked terrified. I couldn't help but grin evilly as I saw a store that would be perfect.

"Holmes, come over here. This is a store that I want you to go into," I tugged at his sleeve. He looked at the store name and immediately backed away.

"I refuse, Watson. This place makes poor quality clothes," he insisted. I rolled my eyes.

"Abercrombie isn't that bad. And besides, I didn't give you much of a choice, now did I?"

Holmes followed me into the large store and looked contemptuously at the clothes. After about five minutes of looking around, I pulled off some clothes for him to try on.

"Holmes, what about these?" I asked. He fingered the material unhappily.

It wasn't bad, my selection. It was a simple black shirt and jean shorts. I decided to go easy on him... for now. Holmes finally removed the hangers from my arm.

"It isn't that bad. Hideous, but not the worst," he verified. I grinned.

"Try them on." Holmes glared at me.

"I will not. I hate stores. I didn't want to go shopping, and so I won't buy anything," he said righteously. I rolled my eyes again.

"It's either you try them on, or you give me your size."

Holmes took the clothes into the nearest dressing room.

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"Ok Holmes, we have two black shirts, and three pairs of jean shorts. I've been nice, but now it's time to go wild. I'm picking out your next ensemble," I declared. Holmes nearly dropped his bag.

"Are you insane???" he nearly shrieked. I felt his eyes scanning what I wore, which was rather skimpy.

"Nope. Here's the next store!" I announced. Holmes paled and we walked through the doorway.

"First of all, Holmes, you have to promise me something," I said. Holmes sighed and looked at me.

"What?"

"You have to try on anything I tell you to. No matter what," I replied. Holmes bit his lip and looked at me.

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this, but all right," answered Holmes. I grinned. 

The store we had entered was one of those stores that sold the shirts that had words on the front, such as Angel and Pretty for girls. Holmes gagged as we walked past, and did more than gag when I tossed him the first shirt.

"Watson... did you even look at what this says on the back?" he whispered furiously. I grinned evilly.

"Of course my dear Holmes. I think it is fine," I innocently said. He held the shirt up with one finger.

" 'Trailer Park Treasure', with a whore on the back. I refuse." Holmes dropped the shirt to the ground. 

"Fine. Here, try this outfit on."

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After about five minutes Holmes came out of the dressing room. He wore a leather jacket with chains hanging across it, a black shirt with a skull and cross bones, lime green shorts, and Doc Martins. He stared at himself. 

"Watson...."

I couldn't help it. I giggled. I cracked up. I felt tears leak out of my eyes as I surveyed his outfit. Holmes stormed back into the dressing room, to put on my next selection of clothes.

He came back out, looking very angry, and equally ridiculous. This time he wore huge jean shorts that came down past his ankles, a muscle shirt that said 'bad boy' and a pair of Nikes. I cracked up again.

He came out again wearing a flannel shirt, jeans and cowboy boots.

Then a dress.

After about five more outfits, he blew up.

"I AM NOT A MODEL! I DO NOT TRY ON CLOTHES FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT!" he screamed. I giggled, and tossed him the last outfit I had picked out. He looked at it and stared at me.

"Fine. I'm not trying anything else on after this," he hissed. I nodded, and waited for his reaction to what I had picked out. He came back out looking pleased.

"Not bad, Watson. Your first good pick all day," stated Holmes. I smiled at the outfit. It was gray and black. Gray shirt, black shorts, black and gray shoes. Nothing bad, just good. Holmes changed back into his original clothes, bought the clothes, and we left the store.

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In the end, we bought eight outfits, all consisting of gray, black, or blue clothes, with the occasional white. Holmes was less than pleased, but not angry.

We spent the rest of the week either bike riding or swimming.

The swimming came across interestingly enough. It has 101 degrees out, and I was dying. Aunt Sophia came up to me as I sat in front of the air conditioner.

"Love, would you and that dear boy of yours like to go swimming?" she asked me. I turned my gaze toward her.

"Anything-to-get-out-of-this-blasted-heat!" I croaked. Aunt Sophia giggled (a very annoying habit) and called Holmes down.

He looked worse than I felt. At least I had once been used to the heat of summer. London summer's were mild, however, and he looked as though he was going to pass out. He sat down next to me and stared at the air conditioner.

"What is it Sophia?" he asked tiredly. Aunt Sophia batted her eyelashes.

"Dearie, we're going to go swimming!" she exclaimed. Holmes started and looked up at her.

"Really?" he asked hopefully.

"Of course luv! I wouldn't lie to such a yummy thing like you," Aunt Sophia bubbled. Holmes grimaced at her choice of words and stood.

"Well then, I supposed we should go change, now shouldn't we? And don't call me luv. Or yummy," Holmes threw back at her as he went up the stairs.

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The pool was lovely. I dove into it from the diving board and swum a lap. Holmes hadn't come into the water yet. We had already been there an hour. I swam up to the edge of the pool and looked at him.

"Holmes, do you know how to swim?" I asked. Holmes glared at me.

"Of course."

"Then why don't you swim with me?" I asked. Holmes smiled.

"I didn't want to make you feel bad for not being able to keep up with me," he casually said. I opened my mouth with indignation.

"Excuse me? Who are you talking to, bub? I'll have you know that I was state champion, for three years straight!" I informed him. Holmes shrugged.

"If you insist on getting badly beaten, I'll consent. However, if you wish to keep your pride intact, I suggest you leave me be," Holmes replied. I shook a fist at him.

"My pride will be increased after I whip your butt!" I said. Holmes grinned, stood, and dove in.

I had to admit that he swam quite well. But I wasn't scared or anything. He mostly swam with grace, not speed. I paddled over to him and looked him in the eye.

"Race?" I asked. He smiled.

"Race." Holmes confirmed. Next thing I knew, we were in the deep end of the pool, preparing to take off. Aunt Sophia sat on the edge.

"All right, darlings. On your mark... get set.... go!"

I kicked off from the wall and began my crawl stroke. I swam quickly, taking a breath every couple of seconds. The water flowed down my body and increased my speed. I looked up and saw the edge of the wall was another twenty feet away. I kicked harder and propelled myself. Finally, I felt the wall on my fingertips. I opened my eyes and looked over to see Holmes leaning on it gracefully. I couldn't help it, my mouth fell open. Aunt Sophia waddled over and looked at me.

"Oh baby. I'm sorry, but Mr. Holmes won. He was ahead of you right in the beginning, by about fifteen feet. I'm sorry," Aunt Sophia repeated. I stared at Holmes, and he smiled at me.

"I told you not to race me."

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Holmes POV:

I scrambled through my suitcase. Watson's birthday was today, and I couldn't find the present I had bought for her.

_I can't believe I nearly forgot! I should have remembered... June 28th is her birthday. Always has been, always will be. Now where is that present!_

Finally, I went to my bed stand and pulled open the drawer. I felt myself sigh in relief as I pulled out the simple white box.

"Hey Holmes! Are you coming or what?" Watson called up at me. We were going out to a formal restaurant, and we were already behind schedule. I adjusted my suit, feeling very self conscious, and stepped out of my room and went downstairs.

Watson stood there, and she nearly knocked me out. Her dress was... very different. Floor length, purple, glittery, with a slit up the side of her leg. The neckline was also dangerously low. I was shocked to see that she wore the necklace I had given her when I had first met her. Watson's hair was piled on her head, and she looked quite lovely. I told her so, and she laughed.

"Thank you Holmes. I believe I've heard you say that before, and when you did we ended up getting shot at. I don't think you should do that again. It might be bad luck," she replied.

"It was one time! Give me some credit!" I remarked. She grinned again, and we walked out the door.

Sophia and Greg were already in the limousine they had hired. I helped Watson in, then climbed in myself. It was large, the limousine, and a bit to... wealthy for my tastes. I was used to my rather humble (yeah, right) way of life, and wasn't fond of rich things. 

The restaurant was just as bad. It was French. I spoke the language fine and ended up ordering for the entire family, but once again, it was to expensive for my tastes.

The dinner was superb, and finally Watson burst out.

"Ok, present time! Come on, I held it in for over an hour! I want my birthday gifts!" she announced. Her father went first, handing her a small, yet elegantly wrapped present. Watson removed the wrapping paper carefully and gasped.

"Daddy, it's beautiful!" Watson gasped. Indeed, it was. It was a pair of silver combs that are meant to be kept in ones hair. They had butterflies carved into the handle, and was obviously Japanese in origin. Sophia then tossed her a large package. Watson stared at it for a moment, assessing it's weight. Finally she yanked the paper off and squealed, a habit she picked up from her aunt. This time the present was a chemistry set.

"Aunt Sophia! How long did you know that I wanted one?" she asked. Sophia giggled.

"For a long time, darling. Aunt Sophia knows all!" Sophia chortled. Watson set the present down by her feet and looked at me.

"Well Holmes? What do you have for me?" she asked. I looked at the two extravagant gifts and felt rather nervous as I handed her the extremely small box. Watson eyed it, and removed the top. She dropped the box in her surprise. It was either that, or her disgust. After a minute of staying nervous she picked it up and removed the tiny gift.

"Holmes... twice in our meeting you've given me jewelry. Whose was this?" she whispered. I thought a moment.

"Irene Adler wasn't an opera singer for nothing. She acquired a great amount of jewels during her lifetime. This was but one of hers," I told her. Watson placed the ring upon her finger. The rubies sparkled in the light. After a minute her father cleared his throat.

"Well Sherlock. If you so desperately wanted to marry my daughter, don't you think you should of talked about it with her old man first?" Greg teased. There was a pause, then Sophia started to giggle. Watson snorted back her laughter, then let it go full force, and even I could not help but chuckle along. 

What we didn't know was that the good times were going to end, and fast.

Second chapter is done. Third chapter will introduce the mystery, ok? I'm sorry if this chapter seemed a little pointless, but I just wanted to illustrate Michigan, and how Holmes is getting used to it. And who knows, the ring might come in handy later...


	3. Jane the Ripper

I've done little research on Jack the Ripper. And no one can tell me anything! He killed five women, they were horribly mutilated, and they were all...er, disrespectable women. If you know what I mean. But since my story is kinda based on the JtR murders, could someone please give me more info? PLEASE? I'm desperate! Anyway, this is the third chapter. It introduces the mystery, of course, and gives some more info about Watson's background in Ashling. Have fun reading this!

Chapter Three: Jane the Ripper

Holmes POV:

Watson rode along side me, her bike dreadfully close to mine. I clicked my tongue in agitation and maneuvered it closer to the edge of the muddy sidewalk.

Watson and I were riding through the local park, which was horribly desolate. No one was around, and all the park consisted of was two teeter-totters, a sandbox, a set of broken swings, and an ice rink. And, of course, the bicycle trail. I couldn't imagine how Watson could have lived here until she was fifteen. It seemed a rather annoying town to live in.

Watson pulled her bike to the side.

"Holmes, what are you thinking about?" she asked politely. I rolled my eyes at her question.

"Merely that your hometown is horribly depressing. How in the world did you live here for fifteen years?" I questioned. Watson laughed.

"Not happily, let me tell you. My recreation consisted of ice skating in the winter, biking around town in the spring, swimming in the summer, and raking leaves in the fall. I also was involved in the nursing home, restaurant, and-guys!" Watson broke off. I stared at her.

"You were involved in guys?" I asked incredulously. She shook her head at me and dropped her bike to the ground, running towards some girls who had been walking our way. I turned my gaze to them.

The first girl, whose initials were A.K, seemed to be the leader of the pack. She had long blond hair, recently cut shorter. Icy blue eyes, tall, smart in the math and science areas. She played flute, and was first chair in her band. Rather fun loving, wild, occasionally reckless. Very mature. Is involved with a boy named Jason. Ex-boyfriend named Brandon? Attends an Arts Academy. Not rich, not poor.

The second girl seemed a bit more interesting. Initials were R.N, name was Rachel Niemann. She had extraordinarily short hair, that had been permed recently. It was a sandy brown color. She had hazel eyes, and a twin sister named Rebbeca. Odd spelling, if I do say so myself. She goes to the local high school, is first chair flute player in her band, also plays piano. Gifted in the math area, but not nearly as smart as Miss A.K. She is not seeing anyone of late, but has multiple ex-boyfriends. Perhaps she once was a boy fanatic. She plays soccer, and marches in marching band.

The third girl was not nearly as interesting as the other girls, but twice as interesting in different aspects. Her initials were K.B. She had chopped off brown hair, and dark brown eyes that were hidden behind glasses. She was very thin, about as thin as I was. She sings in a choir, the high school's choir. She is roughly five feet and four inches tall. Is dating a boy named Alex. Doesn't play sports. Reads a great deal. She also paints, I noted, looking at her hands.

But the fourth girl peaked my interest about as much as the first. Perhaps not as much, but a great deal. This girl was as tall as her first friend, only an inch shorter. She had dyed hair, her brown roots indicated it. Her hair was now red. She was overly pale, with dark blue eyes poking out from behind her mass of red frizz. She wears reading glasses, I could tell, and read almost every minute of the day. She plays a multitude of instruments, including the violin, French horn, piano, hand chimes, a small bit of flute, and a decent amount of trumpet and clarinet. She also sang. This girl peaked my interest, however, by the way she walked. She walked boldly, and not shyly. The third girl, K.B, was obviously very modest, whereas Miss A.K was not at all. She seemed to have a healthy mix between the two. After a moment or two I decided she was an actress as well as a musician. 

Watson ran toward the girls and they all swooped her into a bear hug.

"Jenny, it's great to see you again! You look great! Who's your friend? Great to see you!" was all I could discern from their mass of arms. Watson pulled away and looked toward me.

"Holmes, come meet my friends! The tall one with blond hair is Amanda Kline, but we call her Kline," Watson introduced. The girl, Kline, stepped forward and took my outstretched hand.

"Nice to meet you. Simply a pleasure," she said in an educated manner. Her handshake betrayed her, though. It gave me the appearance that she was smart, but just as I though earlier, a bit reckless. Watson grinned at her and turned to the second girl.

"This is Rachel Niemann. She had been my best friend since preschool!" exclaimed Watson. That girl shook my hand as well, but not nearly as firm as Miss Kline. She grinned up at me, then stepped back.

"Kelsey Bairdi. The painter of the group," Watson said. Miss Bairdi stepped forward and offered her hand, but of the three hers was the limpest handshake. Finally, the second girl who peaked my interest in the group stepped forward.

"And I need no introduction from Jenny. I am Christine Penninger. Tis a joy to meet the one who so plagued Jenny's letters," the girl said. I was a bit shocked at her choice of words, but took her hand. It was gentle, but extremely firm at the same time. Watson laughed at her friend.

"Christine is a bit eccentric. You'll get used to her. Anyway, guys, this is Sherlock Holmes. He's my best friend in England," Watson explained. Miss- Rachel, I think? giggled.

"You mean your boyfriend, don't you Jenny? Jeremy told us all about him. He's cuter than he said... or you said," Rachel announced. Watson and I both blushed as the group laughed. Kline looked at me.

"I don't know Rach. I think that Jason is cuter. What about you Kels? Who wins, Sherlock or Jason?" Kline asked. Kelsey stepped forward and circled me, and I felt her eyes roving all over me. Finally she stepped back to reveal her verdict. 

"Nope. It's Alex, through and through," she proclaimed. All the girls laughed at this, and I felt a bit out of place. Then Kelsey turned to Christine.

"Well, Christine? What do you think?" she asked. Christine looked up at me, and then at her friends.

"He's a nice choice for Jenny," she muttered. It shocked me that she said something so quietly. Kline rolled her eyes.

"But what do YOU think of him? You know that Jen can't date him if he doesn't pass our inspections," she said. Christine raised her face and looked me in the eyes. It was rather uncomfortable to be stared at, but she broke her gaze after a moment or two.

"He's smart. He plays violin. He likes to solve mysteries. I say that he should pass in our group," she decreed. While the girls laughed, I was a bit surprised by her once more. She caught me staring at her and smiled at me.

"You have calluses on your finger tips. I know about them, because I play violin, as you very well know. The rest I knew. You see, our group here enjoys to solve local mysteries. The most recent one is the Jane the Ripper murders," she whispered up at me. I jolted and looked at her once more.

"Jane the Ripper?"

Christine turned to face the other four, who were talking about boys.

"Hey, Sherlock and I are going to go see something. Kline, could you come with us?" she asked. Kline's eyes sharpened and she nodded. She left Kelsey, Rachel, and Jenny by the bike trail, while we walked down it some ways. After a minute, we stopped. Christine and Kline faced me.

"You really want to know about Jane the Ripper, huh?" Kline asked in hushed tones. I nodded, a bit confused about their secrecy. Christine caught the look of surprise on my face.

"Kelsey and Rachel don't solve mysteries. We would prefer telling just you, and then you can tell Jenny," she explained. I nodded. Kline cleared her throat and pulled out a piece of paper from the pocket of her shorts.

"Jane the Ripper: Roughly five foot six in height, with red hair," Kline said. Christine rolled her eyes.

"Jane the Ripper is only our nickname for her. You see, she is a murderer. She murders very much like Jack the Ripper of the nineteenth century. She has murdered three men so far, all drunks. She, ah, removes their hearts. Only one man was mutilated in another area. His face was badly torn and his eyes were missing. His name was-" Christine snapped her fingers and Kline continued the narration. 

"Was Guy Spiconni. Age twenty two. He was found on the porch of Wolves Tavern. He was drunk, just like the other men. See, we think that Jane doesn't kill women of ill repute like Jack did, but she kills-" Kline was cut off as Christine jumped in.

"Kills drunks, due to some personal experience of hers. They were all found within two blocks of Wolves Tavern. Their have only been three murders because-"

"Because people just don't get drunk in Ashling," Kline finished. I nodded.

"Thank you for telling me. What of these other men?" I asked. Christine waved a hand at Kline. Kline brandished the papers triumphantly.

"Kevin O' Leary was the first man killed. He was twenty eight, and married to a woman named Lynn. She was devastated after he was found. Anyway, he was drunk, and found two blocks away from Wolves Tavern, in an abandoned building. The other man besides Guy was Jon Zearron. He was thirty four, and engaged. His fiancee was crushed, and later admitted to a mental hospital. Guess she was rather attached to the guy. Anyway, according to his friends they went to Wolves Tavern to get a couple of drinks before the wedding. He left around midnight with a young woman with red hair, and was later found one block away, in dump. They found his heart, though. It was in a jar. It was hardly recognizable," Kline said. I nodded and thought for a moment.

"Tell me how you solve your mysteries, and what mysteries you have solved," I demanded. Both Kline and Christine looked surprised at my request, but decided to comply to my it. Christine cleared her throat melodramatically. Definitely an actress.

"Both Kline and I go to an Arts Academy. Two months ago a girl disappeared. We investigated it, and found her father had pulled her out of the school so he could beat her. She died, unfortunately, before we could find her. Then was a commonplace little theft of a diamond ring, and some embezzlement from our school. And now this," she finished. I smiled at her.

"Odd. You go from a murder, to a simple theft, to embezzlement, to more murder. No easy feat, let me tell you. And what do you two do, exactly?" I asked. Kline grinned.

"Christine here is the spy of the group. She is hardly noticed anyway, and disguises herself quite well. She's an actress, you see," Hah! I was right. "-and does really well with that kind of stuff. I hardly recognize her sometimes!"

Christine continued. "Kline does the footwork. I am not in shape, I cannot run, and I don't do well with things like that. She usually pursues the villain. She and I both split the brainwork. We're top in our class, you know? I spy, she pursues. We end up setting up a trap most of the time. I scheme the trap, she builds the trap, she pushes the villain into the trap, and I report it to the police with the list of evidence. Case closed!" 

I couldn't help but be caught up in the youthful enthusiasm from these girls. They seemed to know what they were talking about, and did a great job at it. From what I could tell, they were very much like my Irregulars.

"Anything else about Jane?" I asked. They shook their heads sadly.

"We just got involved in the investigation yesterday. We move quickly, but not that quickly. Why don't you, Jenny, Kline and I got talk to LT Williams tomorrow?" Christine suggested. I thought for a moment.

"LT Williams? As in Lieutenant Williams?" I asked. Kline laughed.

"No, LT Williams is Lynn, O'Leary's wife. Her middle name is Tatyana. Her friends call her Lieutenant Williams, though, because she is very bold and strong. Leader of the group, I believe," Kline explained. I nodded gravely.

"Are you sure it is wise to talk to a woman who has just recently lost her beloved husband?" I asked. Christine snorted, which was most unbecoming.

"Beloved? Are you nuts? Sorry, you never met Kevin, did you. He was a drunk, and beat women. Hired women of ill repute a lot. We came close to being able to bust him, but he died before that happened. I suppose he could of reformed, but I doubt it. However, Lynn does seem sad about his death, so we'll just have to treat her gently," Christine said. I smiled at the two who stood before me.

"All right, we'll see her tomorrow. Now, what can you tell me about the Watson of old?" I asked gleefully. Kline and Christine looked at each other.

"Have you seen the picture of her with her face in the cake?" 


	4. Lieutenant Williams

Fourth chapter! Joy to the world! My stupid computer isn't working right now, so it might be a while before you get a chapter after this. Thanks for the nice reviews, I really appreciate them. Please keep reading, and if you don't then read something by another good author, such as Someday Sara, or Hannah Holmes. Queen Hotaru, Cyber Dustbunny, and Meryl Lynn are also good reads. Have fun reading these (or mine)!

Chapter Four: Lieutenant Williams

Holmes's POV:

She was enraged, to say the least.

"You are enlisting help from my friends!" Watson screamed. I backed away with my arms raised.

"Watson, I can hardly say that I'm 'enlisting' them, as you so eloquently put it. Kline and Christine can hardly be denied this case. They make a formidable pair, the two of them. Very smart. Tell me about them," I pressed. Watson's anger melted away with the thought of her friends.

"We can get back to this argument later. You want to know about Kline and Christine, fine. Let's start with Kline, shall we?

"Amanda Evie Kline. Age sixteen, as of April 3rd. Brilliant in math and science, well versed in world history and geography. Superb musician," she began. I raised a hand to protest.

"To quote Americans, 'duh'. I knew this. Tell me about her... in another way," I told her. Watson sat down in the couch that had been moved into my room.

"Let me see, let me see. Um, she moved to Ashling when she was ten years old. She was pretty odd, to tell you the truth. Nice, funny, but strange. She would of fit in with the ditzes at my school really well, were she not so smart. Genius, I'm telling you. She was doing complex calculus at the age of fourteen. She lives in this pretty darn large house, and acts as 'the first born son', as she put it. She bales hay, or junk like that." Watson paused, giving me the perfect place to intervene.

"That's nice. Might I ask about her personality?" I inquired. She nodded and thought again.

"She's bold, and not afraid of doing weird things. I remember that once when I went to her sleepover, she made out with a stuffed pheasant we later named George! Anyway, she kind of keeps to herself. If I had to describe her with one word, it would be vibrant. She's amazing. Her energy is boundless! She's really nice, but can be nasty to people she doesn't like. She was always teasing us, I remember. Especially Rachel and Christine," Watson finished. I sighed.

"Thank you. Now Christine. Tell me her full name, age, and where her areas of intelligence are," I told Watson. Watson grinned and pursed her lips.

"Very well. Christine Elisa Penninger. Age fifteen, as of September tenth. Especially smart in English, immense vocabulary. She is good in chemistry, and good in fencing. She was really good at music, if I remember correctly. She was really bad at math, though. She didn't have a mind for numbers. She was good at history. Ask about stuff from the past, and she can tell you about it," Watson said. I nodded.

"All right. Tell me about her history here," I demanded. Watson smiled.

"You sure are interested in these two, aren't you? Well, she moved here when she was three from Pennsylvania. Now she is the oddest of the group. Odd sense of fashion too. Only likes dark colors. She loves black turtlenecks, and black slacks. She loves her high heeled black boots. She took pride in being a dork, as she called it. She never paid attention to what she looked like, as long as she was happy. She has a quick temper. She is quick to get angry, quick to forgive, and she never forgets. She has a half-way photographic memory. She lives in a rather large house, for our small town, but not huge, and is an only child," Watson commended.

"Interesting. Now her personality."

"Urg. She is the hardest person to put into personality. Christine is... different. She is very nice, annoyingly nice at times. She can be nasty, but doesn't like to be. She reserves that for people who tease other people. She is kind of depressing at times, and really quiet, but loud, if you know what I mean. She acts like a shy little girl, but is very colorful. She is the perfect spy, if what you told me is true. When I went to school with her, no one would ever notice her. Everyone knew who she was, but she blended in so perfectly. To put her into a word.... clashing. Her personality is constantly changing," Watson concluded. I flopped down next to her on the couch.

"They are both interesting girls. Kline is bright and bold, whereas Christine is drab and quiet. But when I met her she seemed bold enough," I commented. Watson nodded.

"That's what I meant by clashing. She doesn't have a set personality. Kline is very set in her ways. However, their is one thing that Christine is set on," Watson explained. I cocked an eyebrow.

"And what is that?" I asked. Watson grinned.

"You're going to hate this... religion. She is a Christian, and very set on virtues. She refuses to swear, unless under extreme stress, or she has to for a role she is playing. She doesn't believe in premarital sex, hates evil, embraces good, and reads the Bible like a good little girl should," Watson mocked. I frowned slightly.

"I have no qualms against religion. I think she is right to have virtues. What about Kline, what are her virtues?" I questioned. Watson shrugged.

"Only she knows. She keeps to herself," replied Watson. I nodded grimly.

"Well, they will be joining us on our investigation. Come along, we're going to meet Lieutenant Williams," I said. I rose from the couch and grabbed a jacket, walking out the door.

*************************************************************************************************

"Why is it we always have to go to the creepy houses?" Watson grumbled. 

We stood in front of an old house, that was large and run down. Kline and Christine both grinned at Watson.

"Shall I knock then?" Kline asked, stepping forward. I gestured toward the knocker, permitting her to hit it. Kline approached it, smoothed her skirt, and rapped soundly on the brass knocker.

A sort of grumbling came from inside, then the sound of light footsteps. Kline took a step backwards and the door swung open, revealing a rather small woman, clothed in black and wearing a veil.

"What do you want? I've answered all your questions!" barked the woman, whom I assumed to be Lieutenant Williams.

Kline vigilantly stepped near the woman.

"I'm sorry Madam, but my friend here, Stanley Young from England wishes to interview you. He's a transfer, you see, and he is now involved in the case," she said kindly. Miss Williams snorted.

"First, it's mademoiselle. Second, who are all of you?" she growled. Christine stepped forward at the cue.

"The woman with black hair is Miss Samantha Johnson. The lady who introduced Stanley is Miss Evie White. And I am Celia Sousburg. May we come in?" asked Christine, all manners and charm. The lady grunted.

"Very well. Make it quick though. The lose of my husband has taken me hard, and I'm going to church later today," she replied. She opened the door wide, permitting us entrance.

The hall was grand, about as grand as Watson's home. Paintings covered the walls, plants were against each corner, and an oriental rug greeted us as we stepped in.

"You have a very nice home Miss..." I trailed off, allowing her to tell me what she preferred to be called.

"Williams. Lynn Williams. Come along, Mr. Young. The living room is this way," she said. She dragged us off down the corridor.

I must say that I was surprised she didn't recognize Christine or Kline. As they had explained, everyone in this town knew each other. But Christine was handy with the makeup. She had dressed Kline and herself up quite well. Kline's long hair had been pulled back, and Christine's reading glasses had been added onto her nose. She wore a knee-length skirt that was black, and a white button down top. Christine was exactly the opposite. She had tamed her red frizz hair into a sleek, straight mane, and wore no glasses. Her skirt was a crisp white, and her top was a black sweater. They looked like very convincing assistants, even secretaries.

Miss Williams sat us down in hard, American chairs, and then sat in one directly across from me, easing herself down gently.

"Now what is it you wish to ask me, Mr. Young?" she asked. I cleared my throat, and gestured to Christine.

"Miss Williams, what can you tell us about your husband?" I asked. Christine began to slink away from the group, taking care in not being noticed. It was part of our plan. While Kline, Watson and I distracted Lieutenant Williams, Christine would have a nice peak around.

"He was a drunk. An unethical, non-Christian drunk. Only the Lord knows why I married him," Miss Williams said. I raised an eyebrow.

"I am to assume you are a regular, God fearing Christian then, Miss Williams?" I questioned. She snorted with laughter.

"I haven't been to a church in ten years. Tonight will be my first time. When I say non-Christian, I mean that he was a devil worshipper," Williams laughed. I frowned.

"I'm afraid you lost me. He practiced the occult?"

"Hah! No, my dear boy. He was a woman beater, is what I mean," grunted Williams. I shook my head.

"Did he beat you?"

"All the time, he did. Every night. Hurt my feelings a great deal. My own father never once hit me," responded Williams. I nodded and Watson quickly scribbled down everything that was said.

"Do you know why?" 

"He was drunk."

"Where did he go to drink?"

"A place called Wolves Tavern. It's the only bar in town, after all. We get about a drunk every two weeks."

"Do you know anything about the murders that have been happening recently?"

"Nope. Just that they're really bloody, and the local police officers are really confused."

"Why do you know that?"

"Because they said so themselves. May I ask you a question Mr. Young?"

This surprised me, but I regained my composure quickly.

"Yes, you may," I told her. Miss Williams raised her head defiantly.

"Why do you so desperately want to track down the man who is doing this town a justice? Killing drunks that probably beat their wives is never a bad thing," she said. I sat back in my seat, shocked at how cold-blooded she was.

"Kevin O'Leary was the only man of the group that was married. The rest were either engaged or single. The one man who was engaged was described as 'a kind gentle man, who never touched alcohol'," I informed her.

"Until the night he died, anyway," she snorted. Suddenly, some sort of a ruckus came from down the hall. After a minute or two, the butler entered, holding Christine by the collar.

"Mademoiselle, this lady was caught sneaking around the upstairs. What shall I have done with her?" he asked in a snooty voice. Miss Williams bolted to her feet and pointed an accusing finger at us.

"You sent her in here to spy on me! My husband and I may not have been on the best of terms, but I loved him dearly! Kevin may not have been the best man alive, but I would never kill my love!" she shrieked. Christine was dropped ineloquently to the ground, and I took a step back from the raving Miss Williams.

"God forgive me, I did get angry at him! I was hurt by his hurting me! But when he was sober, he was the kindest, sweetest man I have ever known! Get out of my house! Get-" Miss Williams broke off with a sob, and collapsed to the ground crying. The butler took a step forward and grabbed my arm.

"Leave now, sir, and don't think about coming back. The missus was indeed must upset by her husbands death. You are barking up the wrong tree," the butler cried. I grabbed Watson, and Kline snatched up Christine, and we ran out the door, leaving behind the wails of Miss Williams.

*************************************************************************************************

"YOU GOT CAUGHT!" screamed Kline. Christine winced at her.

"Wasn't exactly my fault. The maid dropped her vacuum cleaner on top of my head! I was in a closet for heaven sakes!" Christine discerned. I nodded toward her.

"Did you find anything?" I asked.

"Nothing! I don't know if this woman did it or not. There was nothing I could find, or even pretend to apply," she supplied. 

"Well, I for one don't think she did it. She was much to distraught about it," I informed them. Christine and Kline nodded, and Watson sighed.

"So who did it then? Who could of done it? Who hates drunks enough to rip out their hearts?" Watson asked. I looked toward Kline, who looked toward Christine. She pulled out a small black notebook and tossed it to Kline. Kline opened it and read out loud.

"Let's see. Their is Mr. Davidson, who runs a church. And Miss Sarah Winston, who runs a bookshop. And a Mrs. and Mr. Lellway, who own an insurance company," Kline announced. I groaned.

"Lets not worry about it tonight. Tomorrow we can visit the bar," I moaned. Christine and Kline broke off away from Watson and I, and we went home, disturbed greatly by the crimes that had been committed, the images of dead bodies in our minds.


	5. Wolves Tavern

Ah, the glorious fifth chapter... halleluiah! I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long. I had two concerts in a row, one where I read a script, played my French Horn, and played piano. The second one I sang, and played my French Horn. I have another one Saturday, Sunday, and then on Monday I'm busy, and on Tuesday I'm going to check out the school I might be going to... I'm busy, let's put it that way. I'm a bit surprised at one of the reviews. I don't remember which one it was, but they suggested Christine as the culprit! I'm not insulting whoever said that, I found it interesting, but I'll tell you this much, CHRISTINE IS NOT BAD! In fact, she is roughly based on my best friend. Very roughly. I'm glad you are enjoying my stories, everyone, and thanks for your support!

Chapter Five: Wolves Tavern

Holmes' POV:

I stared at the ceiling, not wanting to move. My night had been plagued with dreams of murdered men, blood covering their chests. Watson had come in around midnight to talk to me for a while (she couldn't sleep either) and we had talked for a while about what we would do for when we went to the tavern. It was obvious we would all have to wear costumes, but what would we wear, exactly? Watson and I had discussed it, and come up with the perfect disguises. Although, they were a bit insulting.

Groaning, I pulled myself out of bed and dressed quickly. Watson had probably already called the two and invited them over, and I had to be decent, and in costume. My costume was disgusting, dirty, and very, very American. My role was that of a man who was depressed, and looking to get drunk. In truth, I find alcohol demeaning to ones mind, but it was only a role. I could just imagine how Kline and Christine were going to react to their roles.

*************************************************************************************************

"I'm a WHAT!" screamed Kline at the top of her lungs. Christine was cracking up and Watson was just barely repressing a laugh.

"I know it's not a very good role, but if someone was going to accompany a depressed man into a bar, wouldn't it be-" I stopped, allowing her take up on the end of my sentence.

"-A slut? No, how about a sister?" she protested. I sighed.

"Would a sister allow her brother to get drunk? No, I think not," I responded. Christine clutched at her sides and continued to laugh at Kline. Watson couldn't restrain herself much longer, and she finally burst into laughter. Even I felt myself laugh a little. Kline sniffed indignantly and picked up the costume Christine had provided. She had brought along a huge trunk, which she had revealed to have almost every costume under the sun. Kline left the room to change, leaving me to give Christine her role. 

Christine managed to stop laughing and approached me cautiously.

"Tell me I'm not a slut?" she asked hopefully. I smiled at her.

"No, but you won't be going into the bar, either," I gently said. Christine glared at me briefly, but then rolled her eyes.

"My spy talents wasted, I swear. What am I doing?" she queried.

"You are a blind beggar woman. I want you to watch for drunks who leave the bar. If one does leave, follow him," I told her. Christine frowned.

"How do you know it's going to be a male?" she asked. I shrugged.

"All the other victims have been males. I'm taking an assumption. Besides, I believe Jane is a woman," I replied. Christine nodded and began rifling through her trunk, looking for the perfect beggar woman outfit. Finally, I turned to Watson.

"Do you have your clarinet ready?" I asked. She nodded and held it up. I smiled and walked around her.

"Don't you think you should have a hat for collecting money? You are a traveling musician, after all. They usually have something to put money in," I told her. Watson frowned and stood beside Christine as she dug. Suddenly, she issued a cry of success and pulled out a hat. It was brown and dirty, with a broad rim and a worn velvet lining. I nodded at her find, allowing it. 

Kline walked out from the bathroom, and Christine went in with her beggar clothes. She walked over to me and ran her fingers along my neck.

"Hey. You want to have a good time?" she whispered seductively in my ear. I shuddered and removed her hand to inspect her outfit.

It was certainly sluttish enough. She wore a black mini skirt and pink, sparkly tank top. She had tossed her hair up in a messy upsweep. She had thick lipstick and eye makeup on. She also wore ridiculously high heals that glittered along with her shirt. Watson grinned at her.

"Don't you dare go and steal my boyfriend, Kline," she teased. Kline raised an eyebrow.

"Who is Kline? I'm Trixie," she stated. I smiled at her choice of name. Then I heard a dull thud against the bathroom door, and it opened. Watson started laughing immediately, as did Kline. 

Christine stood there with a long cane. She wore a simple, baggy dress that was covered in flowers. Her eyes were covered with Watson's purple sunglasses, and she wore red tennis shoes. Her hair was suddenly white, and was cut short, and stuck out in clumps. A hat covered most of her head. The hat was odd enough. It was a straw hat, that was decked with daisies. She held out a bowl.

"Is someone here? Could you spare some money?" she croaked. Kline fell onto the couch, laughing. But Watson had managed to stop laughing long enough to speak.

"Where in the world did you get those absurd clothes, Christine?" Watson choked. Christine looked over at her.

"Rose. Call me Rose. That's the name of this character," she affirmed. I raised an eyebrow.

"Why all the daisies, then?" I asked. Christine cackled with her character voice.

"I'm blind, dear fellow. I can't tell the difference. These old fingers are stiff with age. Or perhaps arthritis," Christine thought. She flopped down on the couch after moving Kline out of the way and pulled out her black notebook and scanned the pages.

"Ok... Rose has arthritis. Sandy has old fingers," she muttered. I looked at her with confusion. Kline straightened up and looked me in the eye.

"She has a lot of characters, see. Rose, Sandy, Lulu, Chanterelle, Monique, George, Jacob, Elizabeth, Kristen, and many others. All of them are very different. She hasn't used Rose yet, though. She's probably quite happy," Kline told me. I peered at the black book in Christine's hands, and quickly plucked it from her fingers. 

"Hey! Give that back!" Christine exclaimed. I flipped the pages.

" 'Monique, age fourteen. Black hair, black eyes, black clothes. Inquisitive student. George, age thirty seven. Brown hair, blue eyes, suits. Successful business man. Elizabeth, age twenty four. Red hair, blue eyes, green clothes. Very modern woman.' How many do you have?" I asked, addressing Christine. She snatched her book from my hand and tucked into the interior of her costume.

"One hundred and thirty five. Very different, let me assure you. Why, do you wish to use one?" she spat. I was surprised at her loathing. I smiled at her.

"No. I was merely interested in your work," I told her. I turned to Kline. "How often does she use them?"

"A lot. She IS an actress. I've used them a couple of times too. My favorite is Samantha, a homeless woman. Or Essence, a singer. She uses a male's guise a lot, however. She never did like skirts," Kline stated. I nodded and clapped my hands together.

"Come, we must practice for tonight. We must be perfect in our roles."

*************************************************************************************************

The air was dreadfully warm, I noted with sadness. Most of our clothes weren't suited for warm weather. Kline and Watson probably had it the easiest. Kline was hardly wearing anything, and Watson's clothes were fairly light weight. Christine and I, however, were both wearing sweaters. It was foggy too, which didn't help with vision.

I heard Watson move next to me.

"We're here. What next? Position us, Holmes," she said. I sighed.

"All right then. Christine, go sit by the door," I said. The tapping of a cane signaled that she was moving. I turned myself in the general direction of Watson.

"Watson, go to the right side of the door, and up about twenty feet. Stand about ten feet from the doorway," I commanded. She stomped to tell me she had understood, and she walked off. I reached for Kline quickly.

"Kline, next to me," I directed. She wrapped her arms around me to signal that the role-playing had begun. I walked forward and grabbed the door knob.

Wolves Tavern was noisy, bright, and smelled horribly. I wrinkled my nose in disdain as I entered.

It wasn't a very healthy looking establishment. It was amazing it hadn't been shut down due to health code violations. The walls were painted black, and in the corner there was a stuffed trophy of a wolf. That explained the name. Dead animals covered the walls. Pheasants, fish, deer, and bear. But wolves were the main animal, even though they were endangered. It surprised me, to say the least.

The bartender glared at me from behind the counter. I approached the counter cautiously, as my character would. Kline hung on to me, her arms wrapped around me.

"You want something, mister?" the man from the bar asked. I sighed.

"Um. I guess some beer would be all right," I mumbled. Kline giggled.

"Silly. Two Labatt Blues, please," she laughed. She bent her head toward mine and whispered hastily in mine.

"You gotta specify, Sherlock. Tell 'em beer, they could bring you anything," she whispered. I nodded in response. The man tossed the beers in front of me.

"Labatt Blue, sir. Hope you and your-" he stopped and surveyed Kline. "-hired woman enjoy it." He walked off, leaving me with beer I would never drink. Kline scanned it and dumped it quickly onto the floor. She then batted her eyelashes at another man. She took the stool next to me and leaned into my neck.

"See anyone who is drunk?" she muttered. I looked around.

"Not yet. One man, in the corner, looks as though he's had almost more than enough," I whispered back. She jerked her head away and looked over into the corner.

"Oh, he's a cute wolf, isn't he?" she giggled. I turned to face the 'wolf' and looked at him. The man had black-gray hair, and dark brown eyes. He had a scar running down his cheek, and one eye was milk white.

"I wouldn't call him cute. He's dead, darling," I hissed. She smiled at me and stared at the man. Or in this case, the wolf.

"I don't know, love. I wonder what happened to it's real eyes," she announced.

And so our code continued. We talked about the 'wolf', but in truth we were talking about the one man. About a quarter past eleven, he rose unsteadily to his feet and walked toward the door. I turned around in my stool.

"Come Trixie. I think it's time we went on with our business," I told her. We rose and were about to leave, when-

"Hey! Where do you think you're going? You haven't paid!" the bartender shouted. I felt the adrenaline rush to my throat as I turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any money," I replied, and began walking toward the door. Then the man was standing in front of the door, blocking my way.

"Well then, I don't think you should leave, now should you?" he snarled. 

"Sir, please move away from the door. We have important business somewhere else," I informed him. The man barked out laughter.

"Having fun with your whore doesn't give you the right to leave my bar," he snapped. I felt Kline stiffen at my side.

"Please sir. We need to leave, now. It's an emergency," I said again. The man glared at me.

"I'm not moving. Pay up!" he shouted. I sighed.

"Well, I had really hoped it wouldn't come down to this-" I sighed. I raised my hand and punched him in the jaw. The man grabbed his mouth in surprise and glared down at me.

"Could you please move now?" I asked. The man snarled and lunged at me.

And so the bar broke into chaos. All around me I heard and felt people fighting. I wasn't sure what Kline was doing. I was busy staying out of the bartenders way.

The large man took a swing at my head. I parried quickly (thank the Lord for fencing lessons!) and threw a punch of my own, this time hitting the man in the gut. He spluttered a bit, then lunged at me again, this time bringing me down with him. My head hit the ground hard, and I heard a crack as it did. The man pinned me and slammed his hand repeatedly into my stomach. After about seven times, I managed to roll out from under him, kicking him as I went. The man howled and grabbed my ankle, causing me to fall again. I punched him quickly in the face and tried to rise, but he wouldn't let go of my ankle. I kicked him with my free leg, and allowed myself to fall to the floor again. The man hit me in the face, causing my teeth to rattle. I hit him again in the stomach, and he finally released me. I stood and ran over to Kline.

She was having the time of her life. She kicked, punched, ducked, and slapped as was needed, keeping people away from her. Watson's description of her was correct, she was rather bold. I grabbed her wrist, causing her to snap me around into a headlock. She was about to punch me, but I managed to choke out something.

"Kline!- Holmes!" I choked. She started and let me go. She smiled sheepishly at me.

The bar was full of people hitting each other. I saw the bartender standing in front of the doorway, waiting for us. I frowned and pulled Kline towards the doorway. The bartender saw us approach.

"You gonna pay now?" he shouted over the noise. I sighed.

"Sir, I have no money. Will you just let us go, or do I have to knock you unconscious?" I asked as loud as I could. The man smiled cruelly and gestured that yes, I had to. I bit my lip, which I noticed belatedly was bleeding, and came towards him. I pulled a drink from the bar as I went, and stood in front of him. I smiled at him sadly.

"What?" he snapped. I raised the glass of beer and splashed it into his face. He howled and stepped away from the door, allowing me and Kline to leave. She waved good bye at the screaming man as we left.

*************************************************************************************************

"Ha! That was fun!" crowed Kline. I rolled my eyes and began patching myself up. I would be very bruised tomorrow, I noted sorrowfully.

Both Kline and I had received minor injuries. My lip was cut, as were my knuckles, and Kline had a swollen eye that might later turn into a black one. But most of the injuries were bruises. I rubbed my stomach ruefully where the man had hit me, and continued my search for Watson and Christine. 

"Jenny? Christine?" Kline shouted into the now cold air. Their was no answer immediately, but I heard a faint call. I grabbed Kline's wrist and silenced her.

"... Sherlock? Kline, that you?" called the voice. It had to be Christine, only she would call me by my first name. We moved towards the sound carefully.

Christine and Watson both sat on a dirty step, and looked quite sad. Kline looked down at them, and finally Christine raised her eyes.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. We lost him. There was a woman following him, and the fog... we couldn't see him anymore. I'm sorry," she mumbled. I sighed and flopped down next to Watson.

"What happened?" I asked. Watson cleared her throat a couple of times.

"Well, the man left the bar, and Christine stopped him for a bit, talking to him with her old lady voice. He ended up telling her that he needed to get home, and then I stopped him for a bit and played him a song, but he shoved me out of the way. We tried to warn him, we tried. Then Christine and I started following him as best as we could through the fog. We followed him for about a block, and then we saw another woman following him. She had really red hair, and it was frizzy too, almost like Christine's, but not quite. We then stopped for a minute, 'cause we heard something back at the bar. By the time we turned around again, she and the guy were gone," Watson muttered. They both seemed downtrodden about the case, and I suggested that we go home.

Kline happily said yes, and headed off in another direction, but Christine stayed with us.

"Did you see anything tell tale about this woman?" I questioned. Christine sighed and buried her hands into her pockets.

"She limped a bit, and she obviously wore glasses. You could see them glint off in the lamplight. She was kind of small, way smaller than any of us. I'd place her at about five foot five or so. Perhaps shorter," Christine clarified. Watson groaned.

"Are we going to go talk to those other suspects tomorrow?" she asked. I shook my head.

"No. Not until we have more evidence," I said. Christine stopped suddenly in front of a small white house.

"My stop. See you guys tomorrow. I'll be around at about eight. Kline will probably show up at ten or so. Bye," Christine whispered. She then slunk to the back of the house, and Watson and I watched as she climbed in through a window.

Watson and I continued to walk in silence, thinking quietly to ourselves.

"Holmes, what are we going to do? We have absolutely no evidence!" Watson cried. I put an arm on her shoulder and sighed.

"I know, I know. I guess we look around the crime scene tomorrow. The man will surely be dead. It is kind of disappointing you couldn't stop her," I reassured her. Watson sagged all of a sudden.

"We're really sorry, Holmes. There wasn't much else we could do. The fog was so blinding..." Watson trailed off, and I saw some tears cascade down her cheeks. I stopped her and placed my hands firmly on her shoulders.

"There was nothing you could do. Stop blaming yourself. It was nobody's fault, all right?" I pressed. Watson buried her face into my shoulder, and her sobs came wracking out of her. I tensed a bit at her cries, but then slowly relaxed and hugged her.

"He's going to die because of us, Holmes! It is our fault!" she continued to cry. I awkwardly petted her head.

"No, it isn't. Had he not of gotten drunk, or listened to your advice, he wouldn't have come close to death. Stop blaming yourself, now!" I commanded. She stopped crying and smiled up at me.

"Yes sir, sergeant sir."

Watson and I finally reached the house, frozen and covered in tears. I bid her good night, and then collapsed gratefully into my bed.

Jeez, these chapters are long! This one alone is 3303 words long! I hope you enjoyed my story. So, should I kill Christine and Kline off, or leave them in for the rest of the story? Huh? Please review and tell me your thoughts!


	6. The Fourth Murder

So, no killing off Kline and Christine, huh? I was worried you guys wouldn't like them. I'm trying to keep them as undercurrents as much as I can, but they know the turf, see? Oh, and to answer Hank Riddle's question, I do live in Michigan. In a tiny town in Michigan... anyone recognize that? I've never seen England in my life, but I desperately want to go there when I'm older. My parent's want me to go to Scotland *sigh* because they used to live there. Anyway, sixth chapter. Yeah. Here's the deal. I lost the sheet with all my info on it (Dad wanted to clean the computer room, so he shoved my stuff under the bed), and so I have to make it up as I go along. Work with me. BTW, thanks for the info on Jack the Ripper. I appreciate it. 

Chapter Six: The Fourth Murder

Holmes POV:

As soon as the first light came streaming through my window, I jumped out of my bed and threw on my robe. I dashed downstairs and managed to locate the living room with some assistance from Sophia. Finally, at 7:30, I flopped down on the couch.

"Why- WHY is there so many rooms in this blasted house!" I mumbled angrily. I feared that I had missed the news. I went scrambling for the remote and managed to find it (under the television) and flipped on the news.

"- man dead. His name was Jason DeRino. He was a hard working, forty one year old male. He was divorced. DeRino was last seen in company with a supposed woman, about five foot three in height. If you have any info-" I turned the television off and closed my eyes.

The reporter didn't give any information on how he was killed. For all I knew, he might of been suffocated. They didn't say if his heart was ripped out. Quite annoying, really.

I heard footsteps behind me and I turned to see Watson standing there, with a sad smile on her face.

"Dead?" she asked softly. I nodded. She climbed over the back of the couch and fell head first into the cushions.

"This sucks," her voice came. It was muffled from the cushions and I couldn't help but smile, even if it was a bit strained.

"I know. But we have to march on, like good little troops. If we don't, another person will die, and it will be our faults," I whispered gently. Watson pulled her head up from the couch and looked at me.

"Ick. Death. Gross. Hey, want a quarter? I found one!" she exclaimed, pulling the coin from in between the pillows. I grinned and took it from her. I heard another noise from behind me and spun around to see Christine behind the couch smiling.

"Did I miss something? Or was it one of those boyfriend/girlfriend moments?" she said sarcastically. I rolled my eyes and Watson groaned.

"You are such a romanticist, Christine. I found a quarter and offered it to him," she protested. Christine smiled lightly and flipped herself onto the couch.

"Me? A romanticist? I'm a confirmed spinster, Jenny. Never going to date, marry, have kids, and all that junk. Virgin in kissing, hugging, and the more intimate parts of a relationship. See, all that should tell you that I could never be a romanticist. Now, I tease sure, but-" she stopped suddenly and stared off into space. Watson raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"But? Christine? Hello..." Watson waved her hand in front of her face. After a minute, her eyes snapped back into focus.

"He's dead, isn't he? Oh God. Dear Lord, we could've prevented this. Please forgive us..." she had launched into a prayer all of a sudden, and Watson sighed heavily.

"Yeah, he's dead. Did the preppy anchorwoman tell how?" she asked, addressing me now. I cleared my throat to reiterate what I had heard.

"His name was Jason DeRino. He was the oldest of the victims yet, at forty one. He was divorced. Other than that, their was no helpful information. Such as the cause of death, where he was found, if he was drunk, and other such things," I told them. Christine frowned downward and pulled out her famous black notebook.

"The coroner's should be open right now. We can get in, I'm sure. Kline has... connections. If we call, we'll be sure to wake her and she can get her butt down here," offered Christine. I looked over her shoulder to see what she was looking at in her notebook.

"What is that?" I asked. She snapped it shut and tossed it into one of her pockets.

"That page tells me the times that the businesses in town are open. The funeral home and the coroner's are both open at the same times, and that is from 8:30 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. Do you want me to call Kline or not?" she asked impatiently. I nodded and she pulled out a cell phone from her pockets. She tapped a number and held it to her ear.

"Kline, listen. Code heart, death sweep. Quick. Bye," Christine spun. We stared at her as she flipped the cell phone closed and tossed it into a different pocket. She caught our stares and smiled.

"Code heart means another murder, death sweep means Coroner's. Quick means get here quick. Simple, efficient, and easy to decipher. Neither of us have a mind for codes. It works out this way," she explained. Watson frowned.

"How does she know where we are?" she asked.

"Star 69, duh. No, I'm just kidding. She traces it. We're both good with computers, her more than me," Christine laughed. She sat back down in a large armchair and pulled out a watch.

"She'll be here in ten minutes. I suggest you to get changed into suitable clothes," advised Christine. Watson and I both realized we were still dressed in our pajama's and ran upstairs to get changed.

******************************************************************************************

(Here's where it gets a little more complicated) 

Christine's POV:

I leaned on the couch and realized how hard it was to quickly spin lies like that. I didn't like lying to Jenny or Sherlock, but we had to. Kline was, essentially, a hacker. She didn't use it for bad things, but it was still illegal. And as for my notebook...

Sherlock was getting too interested in it. I would have to keep it under wraps for a while, so they wouldn't find out. It wasn't anything bad, but they might want it. For all I knew, Sherlock might see the case as a competition. I highly doubted it, but that is what my friend said (Kline WAS a very suspicious girl), and if it were true, I wished to keep the points on our side. I was willing to give them out, but only when I was sure that I had them too.

I tapped my watch irritably and looked out the large window, waiting for Kline to show up. Knowing her, she'd be wearing her 'coroners' clothes, as she called them. It was a simple red ensemble, with a red shirt and red pants, with a pink ribbon in her hair. I found it ridiculous. She had 'interviewers clothes', 'coroners clothes', 'chasing-after-suspect clothes', and 'trap setting clothes'. I just wore my normal clothes.

Suddenly, a sparse figure came jogging up the sidewalk, wearing all red. I smiled grimly at my accurate thoughts, and motioned for her to come in.

Kline came through the door and landed in a pile on Jenny's green couch. She was sweating heavily, and smelled equally bad. I couldn't help but wrinkle my nose.

"Did you shower this morning, Kline? What is that smell?" I groaned. She sniffed the air delicately and then grinned.

"I fell in some sewer drainage. They really should clear the drains. What, don't you like the smell?" she asked, acting to be offended. I shook my head and raised my hands into the air as a mock prayer.

"Why me Lord? Why?" I whimpered. Kline laughed and shoved me. I quickly put on a serious face and looked into Kline's eyes.

"His name was Jason DeRino. We're going to see the coroner about the body. The stupid anchor woman didn't say anything, including if he was drunk or horribly mutilated," I told her. Kline nodded pulled out her laptop.

I hated the accursed thing. We had gotten into some trouble years back with it, and I wasn't eager to find out why she brought it.

"Kline..." I trailed off. Kline rolled her eyes.

"Once, and you don't trust me again. Get over it, will ya? I'm IM-ing Blaine with what we're going to want, ok? Not bad. And it was one time!" she shrieked. I sighed and sat next to her, pulling on my silver reading glasses.

Kline dictated what I was to type (I was the faster typist) and I tapped it out as fast as I possibly could. I heard the beep as it went through. After a minute, we got an answer.

**KC- Glad to help. Bring your friends over, I'll have DR ready. Not good for weak hearts. Blaine.**

"I suppose that mean's his heart is missing?" a soft voice came from behind us. I jumped up and raised my hands in self defense, and Kline caught the laptop. Sherlock laughed at my reaction and pushed my hands down.

"I am no evil attacker, I assure you Christine. So, what was the trouble with the police a while ago?" he asked nonchalantly. This time the laptop did drop. Kline's mouth fell open and stared at him. He smiled at our shocked reactions.

"The notebook, your hatred of the laptop, your hushed conversation. It all has to do with something you don't want people to find out about. What?" he asked again. I slowly lowered myself into a chair and Kline just sort of flopped to the ground.

"No time. We'll explain it later. Blaine is waiting," I said, slowly. Dumbly. I didn't understand how he knew. I credited myself for being quick, smart even. But how he had read my thoughts... it was simple enough to deduce, I decided, but how he knew that it was the police...

I quickly regained my composure and looked around for Jenny.

"Where's Jen?" asked Kline, sensing my question. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Girls always must wear the right thing. I noticed earlier on, Kline, that you seem to reserve certain clothes for certain occasions, yes? Whereas Christine here wears whatever compels her?" he presumed. Kline grinned.

"You saw right through me. Yep. I need to wear the right clothes all right. I am extremely fashion sensitive. Only the best clothes will do. Christine on the other hand-" I cut her off.

"I wear black, gray, white, or dark blue. Nothing else. Sweaters and slacks for the winter, short sleeves and slacks for the summer. I dislike clothes, Sherlock. People base themselves on them to much. And they judge other's too," I cut off bitterly. Abruptly, Jenny came stampeding down the stairs, wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts.

"Perfect! Ok, let's go!" she heralded. I rolled my eyes, and we were off.

******************************************************************************************

Holmes' POV:

Christine and Kline led the way through the intersecting streets rapidly, appearing to know every twist and turn.

Ashling was a tiny town, it really was, but there were over 100 streets, and they all seemed to intersect. I couldn't even keep track of them all. The names all seemed the same: Fair, Fine, Freeway, Lathrop, Lane, Leeray, East Main, West Main, Main, Spencer, Sperco, and so the list went on. A man could easily get lost. Finally, we stopped at a horribly dismal building. 

It was gray, as was to be expected. From inside you could see the shine of metal and steel, indicating that this was indeed the coroners office. Watson gulped beside me as Kline and Christine dashed in. We proceeded at a slower pace.

"We've been to crime scenes, creepy houses, and abandoned buildings Holmes. Never did I think we would see a coroners office," Watson shuddered. I smiled.

"Yes, but that is usually because we are nearby when the murder happens, or get there when the police are still looking at the scene of crime," I assured. Watson nodded and took a deep breath as we stepped inside.

Kline's voice came steadily from behind a closed door, which I left closed, for the time being.

"-drunk, Blaine? I'm not about to open his mouth and take a whiff," her voice cried. I heard a girls dry voice chuckle, which I took to be Christine's. Her laugh was usually muted, as Kline's was loud.

"Yes, he was. Their were some interesting pieces of evidence left on him, if you would care to take a look," came a soft, male voice. So this was Blaine. Ever dramatic, I opened the door right then.

"I would care to look," I announced boldly. I saw Christine crack a half smile and Kline stick out her tongue at me as she grinned.

"Wondering when you were going to show up. Sherlock, meet Blaine Kline, my uncle. Blaine, this is Sherlock Holmes," she introduced. I took the man's hand into my own and smiled at him.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kline," I said politely. The man laughed.

"You make me sound like my father. Call me Blaine. What should I call you?" he asked in return. I shrugged.

"Either Sherlock or Holmes. Watson calls me Holmes, they call me Sherlock. You have a choice," I told him. Blaine smiled and then turned back to his table.

"As you can see here, there is a bit of white left behind. A microscope clearly reveals it to be lace. The lace has an interesting smell, that of a strong perfume. Oh, we pose as a forensics office too, Mr. Holmes," Blaine suddenly provided. I nodded and gestured for him to continue.

"We here at the forensics lab think that this means Jane seduces her victims, and then murders them. We dug a little deeper, and found internal bleeding. This concludes our theory that Jane tortures before she murders. The bruises are from a long, pointed object, but not a knife. Possibly an umbrella, or something like that. But the most interesting piece of evidence is over here," Blaine said, pointing. We moved to another table and peered at two papers.

"We found fibers from gloves being worn. They obviously cover fingerprints. But the odd thing is that their are two different types. Jane doesn't seem the type to me that would wear to different gloves. It is to out of place. This suggests-" 

"-two murderers? Jane _and_ Jill?" Kline gasped. Watson and Christine's faces mirrored Kline's horror. Blaine nodded.

"Yes. We wouldn't be surprised if their were even more than that. Minions, perhaps, henchmen. People who blindly attack. If you insist on going on with this investigation, then be careful, Amanda," warned Blaine. Kline winced as he said her first name and then nodded.

"Can-can we see the body now?" Kline asked. It was obvious she wasn't really happy about seeing a heartless body.

"Of course," Blaine said. He guided us down the hall, talking as we went. "The other injuries didn't have time to bruise completely because the heart has ripped out before then. The blood supply stopped, and the obviously painful cuts she had made on him couldn't bleed. That was neglected from the reports, I'm sorry to say. Jane and Jill are obviously smart women. Insane, yes. But very smart in their insanity."

We passed a window where a young woman sat sniffing at a white hand kerchief. Blaine stopped suddenly and entered the room.

"Miss Winston, what are you doing here?" Blaine asked impatiently to the young woman. Her head raised, and it was shocking to see her features.

Even I, as callous as I am, could not help but see her beauty. She had a small, delicate looking face, that looked as though it might be porcelain. The woman's eyes were huge, with bright blue orbs shining out from them. Her lips were as dark as blood, and when she spoke you could see gleaming white teeth sticking out. Her hair was golden in color, and fell in waves across her shoulders. She was a classic beauty.

"I'm sorry Mr. Kline. You know that Jason was a good friend of mine. I-oh!" the wretched woman cut off with a sob and dabbed at her hands with the white piece of cloth. I stared at her as Blaine tried to console her.

"Sarah Winston?" I asked suddenly. That was the name of one of the suspects. The woman's head snapped up as I said her name, and for a brief moment I saw anger in her beautiful eyes. It faded quickly, however, and was replaced by puzzlement.

"Why, yes. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your name, young man," Miss Winston said softly, her tears stopping. I offered my hand.

"Sherlock Holmes. Mr. DeRino was a friend of yours?" I asked. Miss Winston smiled sadly.

"Not really. I knew him quite well, however. He was always in my bookstore, looking at books or me. I think he had a crush on me!" laughed Miss Winston. I nodded.

"I hope you can get over your mourning, Miss Winston. Good day."

The woman stepped forward and clasped her gloved hands on my bare ones.

"Thank you young man. It is so nice to see such manners in one so young," she gushed. I shook my hands free and then Blaine continued to lead us down the corridors.

We finally stopped outside of one. The sign on the front said 'Restricted. Do not enter'. So, of course, we went in.

After Blaine turned on the lights, you could see many instruments. Scissors, microscopes, needles, and many other grotesque things. Blaine walked over to the corner and pulled a long bed-like thing out. A cover was laid across it. Watson wrinkled her nose.

"Am I to assume Mr. DeRino is under that sheet?" she asked quietly. Blaine nodded. He gently pulled down the white sheet just past his rib cage. Watson stifled a cry, and Christine turned away.

DeRino lay on the table, his face deadly white, and his heart missing. You could see far into his body, see where the heart had been, see everything. I felt a bit nauseous as I adverted my gaze to his face. It was untouched. I carefully pulled open his mouth and sniffed it. Alcohol. I nodded and quickly covered the man again. I had no desire to see a dead man, unless they were... intact. Kline stared on.

"Drunk?" she asked, carefully masking her voice to not betray emotions. I sighed.

"Indeed. And perhaps the most drunk, if I am not mistaken. You could smell sherry, booze, beer, and a highly alcoholic wine. Am I correct Blaine?" I said, turning to the man. He turned his gaze to a computer that sat beeping quietly in the deathly silent room.

"Yes. Sherry, booze, Labatt Blue for the beer, and a Scottish wine," he quickly confirmed. I smiled grimly.

"He was most definitely a guest of Wolves Tavern. Come along, girls. We have a much needed discussion to attend to."

*************************************************************************************************

Christine's POV:

Sherlock was obviously disturbed by what he had seen. Then again, who wouldn't? A dead man, tortured, and then brutally murdered. I shuddered.

Kline noticed my movement and we fell a couple of steps behind Sherlock and Jenny.

"Gross, huh? Never thought I'd see that in all my life," Kline agreed. I nodded and focused my attention to the mud that lay on the sizzling sidewalk.

"He'll ask us when we get to Jenny's about our crime," I whispered. Kline stiffened and then sighed.

"Well, it wasn't major. And it helped with a case. And it was just a warning! We never actually went to jail!" Kline exclaimed. I bobbed my head in agreement.

"But Kline- hacking. That could be really bad in his book. And then their is my little book..." I trailed off. Kline rolled her eyes.

"You consider swearing a crime. You spy! You might as well spy for a living! You keep info on various people, that is all," Kline yelped. I laughed.

"And I know about their sins, Kline. I know who they sleep with at night. I know who hires the whores of this town. I know... it's disturbing," I finished. Kline smiled at me.

"You also give a fancy right hook. And you're a good fighter when the need comes down to it. What about me? I have landed a man in a hospital! I look at dead bodies all the time! I love fighting, and like it when a fight breaks out! Plus, I know bank records and security codes of almost everyone in this town. We can't go around acting perfect. They were bound to find out," Kline reiterated. I grinned in spite of my dismay.

"Gotta admit though, Kline, that man deserved it. And you are a genius, yourself. Who comes up with all the plans, with the mathematical parts, anyway? You. All right, I give. We suck," I laughed. A laugh came in front of us from Sherlock.

"So that is what you two are always whispering about! I don't much care about hacking, if it was for a case. And for landing people in the hospital... I've landed Watson in the hospital. Not a villain. Watson. It's good that you recognize your shortcomings, however. Very good," Sherlock reminded us. Kline smiled mischievously.

"And yours?"

"Well-uh- I wasn't talking about mine," Sherlock stammered. Jenny smiled.

"He's cold, callous, crude, crass, and isn't gentle to the suspects. He will push, pry, pound, and pull out information. He isn't much fun to work with, and he's exceedingly jealous," Jenny called back. Sherlock mock gasped. 

"How DARE you!" he cried. Jenny smiled. Sherlock whirled around.

"She is amazingly dense! She couldn't follow a criminal if her life depended on it! And she is more jealous than me!" he told us teasingly. Jenny screamed in fury.

"Jerk!"

"Fool!"

"Meanie!"

"That isn't a real word! Obtuse!"

"Obtuse and fool are the same thing! Stupid git!"

"Louse!"

"Uh-uh-" Jenny stammered. She seemed to have run out of insults.

"Hah! You are an unintelligible oaf, who couldn't keep still or silent unless stricken down by some mighty force!" Sherlock declared. I couldn't help. I burst into laughter, Kline not far behind me. Sherlock raised an eyebrow questionably.

"You!- Jenny!- You fight like kindergarteners!" I giggled. Jenny began laughing, and finally Sherlock.

Once we had finally calmed down, Sherlock turned to Jenny.

"You realize I meant none of that, correct?" he asked. Jenny nodded.

"Me either." Kline and I smiled at each other.

"Now kiss and make up..." trilled Kline. Jenny started spluttering.

"That is highly unorthodox. In public? Never!" Holmes explained. Jenny nodded in agreement.

"You're not in public. You are with us. Please?" I asked, using the sweetest voice I could. Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaned down, and pecked Jenny on the lips. Kline groaned.

"Can't you give us more? Come on, Kelsey and Rachel will want something juicy," complained Kline. I shook my head.

"Any more and I'll make myself sick. I think that is quite all right," I replied. Kline rolled her eyes. Sherlock's demeanor turned serious all of a sudden.

"We will get together tomorrow to discuss the clues, all right?" he said. It seemed more like a demand than anything, but Kline and I quickly consented.

"But of course. Thank you for a... splendid afternoon. Perhaps tomorrow evening we can go to the violin concert that is going to play in town for a while. Spend a quick evening of relaxation?" I asked. Jenny shrugged.

"I don't see what it would hurt. Holmes?" She turned to Sherlock. He sighed sadly.

"Very well. One night won't hurt," he agreed. Kline squealed in delight.

"Superb! See you tomorrow!" she cried, and then turned toward her house, leaving me to accompany Sherlock and Jenny home once more. 


	7. A Night of Leisure

Jeez, I'm coming to the closing chapters. I'm going to have eleven. This chapter leads into whodunit. So have fun reading it!!!! Also, this chapter is more on the characters. You'll find out a lot more about them in this.

Chapter Seven: A Night of Leisure

Holmes's POV:

"Happy Birthday to me... happy birthday to me.... happy birthday dear me..... happy birthday to me," I sang quietly while adjusting my shirt. 

July 10th was my birthday. And we were going to dinner. The demons had convinced to take a night off from the case to relax. I loathed to think about all the people that could die. I stared at my reflection unhappily. I hated dressing up, but we were going to a concert as well.

I heard a soft knock on my door, and allowed Watson to come in.

"Hey, all ready to go? Christine and Kline are downstairs. They're wearing their favorite outfits too, so you know it's important to them," Watson whispered. Her father was asleep in the next room. I sighed and turned from the mirror.

"I suppose. Where are we going, anyway?" I asked. She walked out the door and led me downstairs.

Kline and Christine both stood there. Kline wasn't very dressed up. She was wearing black stretch pants and a purple t-shirt. Her hair was tied up in a purple scrunchie. And she wore bright red shoes. Christine was a bit better. She wore black dress pants, a black tank top, a black over sweater thing, and black boots. She also wore a cross engraved with black stones. She had tamed her hair back into a slick red ponytail. She wasn't smiling, just staring off into space. Kline was grinning and talking with Sophia.

"Good evening Sherlock. All ready?" Christine asked as I walked by. I smiled briefly at her then re-voiced my question.

"Where are we going?" I asked once more. Christine pulled out a slip of paper.

"We're going to go see a concert featuring songs by Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovosky, and Greig. Featuring violin and piano. Then we're going to Le Francais Magnifique. It's a French restaurant. Then a quick walk around the park, and back home. Kline, anything to add?" Christine asked. Kline thought for a moment.

"Nah, I don't think so. We'll find out later," Kline decided. I raised an eyebrow in question, but decided that she was being cryptic.

******************************************************************************************

The music was, as the French say, le mieux j'avait jamais entendu. That means 'the best I had ever heard'. The violinist was amazing, and it was the best birthday present I had ever gotten, even if nobody knew it was my birthday.

Watson, Kline, and Christine insisted on dragging me to the restaurant, and had me order for them all. Then came the fun. Talking about ourselves and asking questions. Watson began.

"Question for everybody to answer. Favorite musical or opera." I thought a moment. We had decided we would go around the table clockwise, and I was first.

"My favorite musical is most likely Miss Saigon. My favorite opera is Carmen. It is the last opera my mother ever sang," I told them. It was Christine's turn next.

"Possibly Evita. I really like that. I've never heard an opera before. They don't have anything like that around here," she answered. Kline grinned.

"Almost everybody should know my favorite. Phantom of the Opera, all the way!" she cried. We all laughed at her enthusiasm. Finally, it was Watson's turn.

"I don't know... Cats. I really like the dancing for that," she laughed. 

"Next question. Past boyfriends/crushes," I announced. I saw Christine turn pale.

"Um... I don't have a boyfriend. But I have had crushes before. My first crush was on a guy named Allen. I had it from third grade to seventh grade. But he liked someone else. My second crush was Brian Reed. I had a crush on him all through eighth grade, but I don't really see him anymore," Christine whispered. She didn't look happy. I turned to Kline and smiled demurely at her. She blushed.

"I have way to many crushes to name. But my boyfriend is Jason Jaynez. He has dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes, and oh is he hot! We've been dating for a year now. He knows about my detective work, but doesn't really care. Did I mention he's hot?" grinned Kline. Christine laughed softly, and Watson let loose with a full blown laugh.

"Nice. My boyfriend is Holmes. Kind of. Sort of. But I've never had any other crushes..." Watson trailed off. Christine cleared her throat.

"Sam Stranol..." she coughed. Watson blushed bright red all of a sudden.

"Well, yeah. He was this really cute guy who played on the football team. But he only liked cheerleaders. But at least I wasn't obsessed, like Jen Cupario was!" protested Watson. Christine laughed.

"Sure you weren't obsessed. So, you kept his picture on your wall and kissed it good night for five years for spite?" Christine laughed. Watson blushed again and turned to me.

"Your turn. Spill about Olivia," she hissed. I raised my head.

"Fine. She was a French foreign exchange student that I dated while she was in England," I replied haughtily. Watson smiled.

"And when she came back to England, she jumped into your arms and kissed you on the lips, in front of me," she reminded me. I raised a finger.

"And was part of some odd club, and got herself killed because of it," I shot back. Watson rolled her eyes.

"That is your excuse every time. 'Oh, she's dead now. She doesn't matter'. Sure."

"Next question, people. All right. Let me see... Holmes, what is up with your family?" Christine asked suddenly. I paled and diverted my gaze.

"Most of my family is insane. My mother is a murderer who hates the family, my sister is completely insane, and my father is an alcoholic. Next," I whispered hoarsely. It hurt to talk about my family a great deal. Of course, being stabbed by your mother doesn't exactly help, and nearly seeing your sister be killed... I had my reasons. 

"Sorry. My parents are probably going to get divorced. They fight a lot as of late," Christine told me. I smiled weakly at her. Kline grinned happily.

"My parents are funky. I swear, my mom is legally insane! And my dad kills animals!" Kline broadcasted. Watson picked up her napkin.

"My parents are divorced, and hate each other's guts. And my mom is nearly broke, while my dad swims in money. I'm sorry, I just find that odd," she said. Kline cleared her throat.

"My turn. Great, I don't know what to ask. Yes I do... Sherlock, why didn't you tell us it was your birthday?" she asked suddenly. My head shot up and I stared at them. They smiled at me happily.

"Now, since you didn't tell us, only Jenny had a gift for you. Jen?" Kline gestured towards Watson and she tossed a package into my lap. It was small, and wrapped in newspaper, which showed that they were obviously rushed. I opened it curiously and smiled at what was inside.

It was a gold pocket watch. I thought they had just bought it, until I saw what was on the chain. A sovereign. I nearly dropped the heirloom in my surprise, but then peered closer at it. It was true. This was my great-great-great grandfathers watch. On the side was carved tiny initials. S.H. Sherlock Holmes. I looked up at Watson.

"Where-?" I broke off. Watson grinned.

"Your greatx3 grandfather gave my greatx3 grandfather his watch on the day he died. It's been passed down for a while. My father found out the other day that it was your birthday, and he found this in the attic. He decided it was time to give it back to it's rightful owner," Watson answered. I bit back any emotions and smiled at the three of them.

"Thank you," I replied simply. Kline cleared her throat once more.

"And I'm paying the bill. That's my gift. I didn't know until today, give me a break!" she protested at Watson's looks. The all turned their gaze onto Christine, who raised her hands helplessly into the air.

"Come on people. If Kline didn't know, how was I supposed to know? I suppose, however, I can give you this..." she stopped, turned to me, and kissed my on the cheek. Watson's jaw dropped open in shock, Kline burst into laughter, Christine blushed a good deal, and sat in my seat numbly. Watson recovered first.

"Christine! He's my boyfriend!" she shrieked. A few customers looked at us disapprovingly.

"Well, it wasn't my choice! And it was only on the cheek! I would never try to steal your boyfriend!" disputed Christine. Kline's laughter became louder.

"Yeah right!" Watson yelled. Christine winced.

"It's true! You know how I feel about guys! They're cruel, and heartless. Well, most of them anyway. And I have better things to do with my time," whimpered Christine. My shock wore off and I came to Christine's defense, much to my surprise.

"It was only on the cheek, Watson. No harm done," I soothed. Watson calmed down a great deal, leaving Christine darkly amused, and Kline was now on the floor with laughter. We all stared at her, and after a minute or two she finally crawled back it her seat.

"Christine! Such a man stealer!" she choked. Christine hit her arm and returned her stare towards the table. However, something had intrigued me.

"Christine, how do you feel about men?" I asked cautiously. Her head snapped up and I saw her frown.

"No, trust me, I do like guys. I'm not... uh, queer," she reassured. I laughed.

"I wasn't implying that. But why do you dislike men so much?" I pressed. Her eyes darkened.

"I've been hurt by them enough to know not to trust them. Besides, I'll wait for the perfect guy, quite happily. All though, I have resigned myself to being a spinster. I just don't trust them, is all. They're loud, obnoxious, half the time not even smart enough to add small numbers, and they don't appreciate anything I do," she answered simply. I nodded. Christine turned to Kline.

"Your turn to spill some deep, dark secret, Kline. Why do you shroud yourself in mystery?" Christine asked. Kline, who had been playing with a fork, dropped the fork onto the tablecloth.

"Uh, no reason. I just don't feel that people need to know everything about me. And that is the truth," she told us. It seemed honest enough, and Christine let it drop. Suddenly, a waiter came up to us.

"Pardon me, monsieur, mademoiselles, dinner is served," said the waiter with an accent. And so the food arrived.

******************************************************************************************

The air had grown brisk and cold. It was odd, since it was July. We strolled through the park happily enough, and were returning home.

For once, Watson and I were first to be dropped off, not the other way around. But our restful evening was soon to be turned to chaos.

We stood at the doorstep of Watson's house, when the door flew open and out came a frantic Sophia.

"Jenny! Thank the Lord you're here! Your father went out an hour ago. The bartender called a few minutes ago telling me he was drunk. And with the recent killings... you have to find him! I don't want my baby brother to be murdered!" sobbed Sophia. Watson froze in horror.

"Dad went out, and got drunk?" she whispered. Sophia nodded her large head. Kline stepped forward.

"We'll find him, Aunt Sophia. We promise," she said boldly. Christine, Watson, and I backed her up and directed Sophia back inside. After making sure she was all right on the couch, we dashed out the door.

"Wolves Tavern?" asked Christine. I nodded.

"He'll be there. If we hurry, we might catch him in time," I shouted. We were running by then, and I was far ahead of them all.

******************************************************************************************

"You again? Yeah, Greg Watson left ten minutes ago drunk," the barkeeper said angrily. He had most of his face bandaged from where I had hit him. I smiled at him.

"Did he leave with anyone?" I asked. The barkeeper narrowed his eyes at me.

"You're underage, ain't ya? And to imagine I gave you a beer," he mumbled. I sighed.

"Sir, did he leave with anyone?" I repeated. The man rubbed his scraggly beard.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact he did! Some small woman. Red hair," he answered. I felt the blood drain from my face. I down the hall to where the girls were changing. Dress clothes were not appropriate for chasing criminals. I knocked on the ladies room.

"One minute," called Kline. I leaned against the wall and stared at my pocket watch. After a minute the girls came about again. I had to say I was impressed by their choice of clothing.

Kline wore her 'pursuing villains' clothes, which were forest green. Her hair was tied up in a yellow bow. Christine was wearing all black, and had piled her hair into a black hat. Watson wore shorts and a t-shirt. I smiled at them and quickly related my information to them.

"So Dad is next on the victims list unless we find him?" Watson asked. I nodded.

"But we pretty much know where they're going. And we can follow the footprints," I reminded her. She took a deep breath, and we ran outside.

It was intolerably muddy out, and hard to distinguish anything in the mud, but I knew what I was looking for. 

"No. No. Where is it? That is to small, to large, not the right shoe. That person is walking in a perfectly straight line..."

After a minute of peering at the horrible ground, I found the footprints.

"Here she is! Small heel, blunt toe. And sneakers. That is Greg and Jane all right," I muttered. I got down on my hands and knees and followed them like that until they were farther away from any confusing prints. I rose to my feet and pointed out the tracks.

"These are the tracks. Follow these," I declared. The girls nodded, and so began the pursuit.

******************************************************************************************

"Left. Right. Right. Left. Stop!" I shouted. We had arrived at our destination point.

The warehouse where many of the others had been found was the perfect place to kill someone. Not original, conceivably, but it was far away from the town.

We entered cautiously enough, but abandoned that in a few minutes. It was only a two room place, and when we entered the other room, we got the biggest shock of our young lives.

"Good evening Mr. Holmes," said a familiar voice. "So glad you could make it."

"It-it can't be!" I yelled. 


	8. The Abduction

Yes, I know the last chapter was cheap, short, and not very descriptive. But hey, I'm young. People have had bad chapters before! Plus, that was the only possible way that I could lead into the final conflict. If I have the time I'll rewrite it, I promise. Ok, this chapter will be very hard to understand. PAY CAREFUL ATTENTION TO WHOSE POV IT IS! It changes a lot, because this is the fight scene. Have fun!

Chapter Eight: The Abduction

Holmes's POV

Lieutenant Williams smiled at my dismayed look.

"My dear, I used to be a very good actress. I didn't give a damn about my husband. I married for money. First it was love... but when he died, it was money," she laughed. I glared at her.

"Where is your accomplice and Greg!" Kline screamed from behind me. Watson was sobbing next to me, and Christine had disappeared.

"Greg is fine. I haven't had time to kill him yet. As for my accomplice..." she moved her gloved hands toward the shadows.

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I'm so glad you liked my pitiful act," chuckled Sarah Winston. I glared at her.

"And to think... I thought you a good woman," I spat. Sarah laughed and placed her gloved hands on my shoulders.

"You didn't follow the clues my dear. Lace from my handkerchief. My hands were in gloves. And I am doing good, as is Lynn. We are ridding the world of drunks," she replied with vehemence. Lynn laughed.

"Ah, yes. We couldn't be arrested for our crimes. Well, we could, but since you'll never live to tell about us... you see, we have minions. People from the streets who think we're doing good. Our army..." she gestured again towards a shadow. Twelve to fourteen men emerged.

"My army obeys my very whim. Sarah's as well. They will... annihilate you," she hissed. She and Sarah moved to a windowsill that was rather large.

"And we will watch, and laugh. And Greg will watch too," Lieutenant Williams called. Greg was brought from his shadows, and placed down on the windowsill. Sarah smiled a very crooked smile.

"Attack." 

Watson's POV:

When she said that word, it suddenly felt as though the entire world was collapsing. I heard the rush of people flying past me, and so the battle began.

I am not much of a fighter. Usually I end up in peril. But I was angry. Very, very angry. That woman had taken my Dad.

The first man hit me. I hadn't even noticed him come near me. Surprised, I raised my hands in self defense. The man leered at me.

"Oooh, scary," he laughed. I hit his arm. I hit it again. The man stared at my futile attempts to hurt him, and then slapped me. I flew backwards. The man smiled down at me again.

"Ready to die?" he asked mockingly. I felt my anger rise, and I glared up at him.

"Not yet!" I cried. I raised my leg into the air and kicked him.... where men do not like being kicked. The man screamed, but didn't leave me alone. He got more brutal. 

He pulled out a long knife from his sleeve as he fell and aimed it towards me. I rolled out of the way, but missed him and the knife barely. I leapt to my feet and kicked him in the head. The man reached around and grabbed my ankle, yanking me to the ground. He raised his knife high above my head.

Kline's POV:

Fighting is my strong point, but do I love it? Of course not. The man who chose to attack me was highly skilled. His punches were fast, and could be deadly... were I not blocking them.

He swung his hand at me, and I grabbed it. I heard a snap in my hand, and the man screamed.

"B****!" he yelled. I smiled at him and then kicked his feet out from under him.

"Naughty language," I tsked. He snarled at me and swung his legs into a scissor move. My ankles gave out from under me, and I collapsed to the ground. My head struck the concrete, and for a moment I saw stars. The man kicked me in the side a couple of sides, trying to see if I were unconscious. On the fourth kick, I grabbed his leg and pulled, hard. He fell on top of me.

"Oof! Well, that didn't work!" I muttered to myself as his bulk landed on me. I grabbed onto the man's hair and pulled.

"Aaaahhhhhh!"

"Yeah! That's what you get for dealing with Kline!" I crowed. He jumped up, and so did I. Then the fight got a bit more serious.

He knew karate. He used some of the moves on me before I grasped a hold of it. However, I was trained in Tai Kwan Do. And I was flexible.

I aimed a few expert kicks towards his head and caught him every time. He swung at me, and I ducked low. I raised my leg for another kick, but this time he managed to grab a hold of me. He pulled my leg and swung me into the air, just over his shoulder. I saw the cold, hard asphalt rushing up to my face, and then black.

Watson's POV:

I kicked my leg into the air, and the broad side of the knife hit my shoe and bounced harmlessly away. The man stared at me as I rose from the ground.

"Don't-mess-with-me," I growled. I rushed at him, and slammed my head into his stomach. His body collapsed to the ground. Nobody else came near me, so I decided to join a fight.

Holmes was fine, and Christine was no where in sight... but where was Kline? And with horror, I saw her.

She was on the ground, obviously unconscious. A large, ugly man had a knife in his hand, and had it over her. I screamed in horror and ran at the man.

He hadn't stabbed her yet, I noted when I got towards him. I yelled at him.

"Hey, Ugly!" I screamed. He turned, and that is when it happened.

I punched him hard in the face.

I was shocked at the force of my hand, and saw Kline waking up. The man was stunned for a second or two, but it didn't last. He snatched my hand into his.

"You jerk. You hit me. I'll make sure you never use your hand again!" he bellowed. His fist tightened, and my fingers crunched.

Screaming, I pulled my hand away from him and looked at the swollen fingers. They were bent out of shape, and in one the bone poked out. Broken.

In rage, I looked back at him. He was laughing at my pain. Then I saw Kline jump on his back. The man tilted at the imbalance of her weight. Then the really unexpected happened.

Kline sunk her teeth into his big, bald head. I laughed at her disgusted look, and his look of pain. He threw her off of him, and then rushed towards me.

I stepped out effortlessly of the way, and he slammed head first into a pole, his body crumbling to the ground like liquid.

Christine's POV:

I disliked fights. I was a decent fighter, but stealth was my gift.

I crept silently towards Greg, while Sarah and Lynn watched the fight down below. My shoes didn't make a sound. Almost there, I thought, almost there.

I stretched out my fingers to shake Greg awake, when I felt a truck hit me. My body was slammed through the air and hit hard onto the ground, which was some fifteen feet below the window sill. I groaned with agony and looked at what had hit me.

It was a man, just like the rest of the fighters, and he sat on me. I couldn't move, my small body was pinned beneath his bulk. I wiggled about and stared at his face.

I recognized him almost instantly. He was Victor Prekoni, one of the homeless people I had spied on. I felt a moment of disgust because of what I had known him to do, and then decided fighting would help.

I stopped moving and let my body go limp, hoping he would take the bait. He did. He got off of me and stared at my face to make sure I wasn't faking it. I took advantage of him, and then punched him with all my force, which wasn't much. 

Victor jumped back in surprise at what I had done, and then hit me in the stomach. And in the face. And everywhere. Over, and over again.

I wouldn't take it. I flipped myself up in a classic gymnastics move, and then went flying. This time by my own force. I had taken ballet as a very young girl, and some of it remained in my blood. I went in my toes, and began spinning. After a second or two of staring at me, Victor decided to stand still. Which wasn't a good idea. I jumped into the air, and kicked him in the mouth. Blood poured from his mouth, but Victor once again seemed stupefied, and I admitted he was probably just stupid. I leaned back, and then punched him again. He reacted to this, and grabbed my waist. I quailed under his hands, and he lifted me into the air. I kicked him in the stomach as hard as I could, but it didn't work. He held me there in the air, turned me upside down, and dropped me on my head.

It was a miracle my neck didn't snap right then. I twisted my body at the last minute, and managed to land on my side. I jumped to my feet... but Victor was gone.

Kline's POV:

I thanked Jenny quickly and then was quickly involved in another fight. This man was taller than me, but twice as easy to fight. He was dispatched quickly. But when I looked around, I couldn't find anyone else to fight. There were at least four down, but that left either ten or eight. I looked up at Lieutenant Williams and Sarah Winston. They had led us on so well. We hadn't even thought they could be it. But the clues were right in front of us... Stupid! Sarah was laughing at someone, and Lynn was busy with Greg. She seemed to be removing his shirt, probably for torture. Time was running out.

I didn't have long to contemplate the fact that our time was going quickly, because another man jumped atop of me. I slipped in a puddle of oily stuff as he slammed into me, and my head connected with the pavement. The man slapped me hard across the cheek, making my teeth rattle. He stood above me, grinning stupidly, and I raised a leg to kick him. He grabbed it in his hand and twisted.

With an ear-shattering crunch my ankle broke. I screamed as loud as I possibly could and kicked him in the leg with my other leg. The man came slamming down on top of me, and I punched him with my hand. He howled and hit me in the jaw again. Then he hit me in the ribs, and I felt a rib crack. Screaming in agony, I scrambled helplessly for something to hit him with. My hands found something in the shadows of the warehouse, and I grabbed it and hit him over the head with it, not even paying attention to what it was. The man's head fell into my lap, and I stared at my hand. I held a steel bar. I threw it into the shadows, and hobbled over to help someone else.

Watson's POV:

I was hiding. Cowardly, I knew it, but I had hurt myself. Once again, cowardly, but I had to save my father. I knew that I wouldn't reach him. I had watched as Christine had slunk over to him. She was almost invisible. But that one man had been waiting for her, and knocked her off. If Christine couldn't do it, how could I?

The fight was raging everywhere, and I decided that I had to get back in and fight.

Kline's POV:

Christine was in danger. She had risen from the ground after being dropped by that man, and didn't see that he was sneaking up behind her. She had her head in her hands, and was rubbing her ribs. She didn't see... the man had a knife. 

I limped forward as fast as I could possibly go. The man raised the knife... I was there!

I slammed into Christine and shoved her out of the way. The man missed me with the blade, and Christine went sprawling into a corner. The man... Victor? Yes, that was him, glared down at me.

"I was going to make her pretty," he snarled at me. I smiled at him.

"I think she is fine," I yelped happily. Victor discarded his knife, and grabbed my wrist. It snapped into splinters. I howled.

"Now you're pretty. Perfect," the man laughed in horribly mangled English. He strolled away. But he didn't get far.

From the shadows a long leg suddenly appeared. Victor didn't see it, tripped over it, and was knocked unconscious as his head hit the ground. Christine smiled at me as she pulled her leg back in, and then she disappeared into the shadows again.

Christine's POV:

Thank heaven Kline had seen that man... otherwise I would be dead. 

I had slipped into my shadows again, and was looking for Sherlock. Nobody had been paying much attention to him, but I was worried. Then again, I was always worried.

I crept as silently as I could, dodging the flying minions as they were thrown by either Kline or... Sherlock!

He was fighting about five people at once, and it was obvious he couldn't keep them off much longer. I crouched in the shadows, ready to spring. I didn't wait long.

One of the men who was fighting Sherlock had turned away for a minute. I saw him pull out a long, silver blade from his sock. He turned back to Sherlock, whose back was facing him. The man smiled and raised the knife in the air.

"No!" I screamed. I ran forward about three feet, and threw myself in front of the blade.

Holmes's POV:

It was dreadfully annoying to try to keep five men off your back at once. None of them were very good fighters, but they were fast, and when there are five of them...

I heard someone scream behind me, but I didn't dare turn around to face them. I was getting tired, and I would soon have to watch Greg be killed.

Christine's POV:

The appalling man missed Holmes, and didn't hit my heart, or anything else that was very important to me. Instead, his knife hit my upper arm, where the bicep is. I screamed.

It was so painful, I nearly passed out. But I knew that if I did, I would surely die. I let my anger get the best of me, and grabbed his knife with my bare hand, twisted it away from him, kicked him in the stomach, and then slammed the knife into his shoulder, where I knew he wouldn't die from it. The man collapsed into oblivion, and I glared down at his body. I raised my fingers carefully to my arm, and winced at the touch. Blood dripped from my fingers, and I shuddered. Blood made me queasy. I turned back to Sherlock, to make sure he was all right, but was greeted with a great surprise. He was gone. The men he had been fighting were all on the ground, and he was no where in sight. There were five men left standing, as the reinforcements had been brought in, and Watson and Kline were getting them. Then a voice rang out from the windowsill.

"ENOUGH!"

Holmes's POV:

I screamed the word as loud as I could, surprising everyone. I was sick of fighting, sick of seeing my friends get hurt, and if Greg died, Watson would as well. I turned to Lieutenant Williams and Sarah.

"Take me instead of Greg."

Watson's POV:

Holmes said it, but I couldn't believe it. He was going to get himself killed! He was going to die for my father. I collapsed to the ground in astonishment and confusion.

"Why....?" I whispered. I saw Holmes's eyes look briefly towards me in sadness, but then they directed themselves back onto Lieutenant Williams.

Holmes's POV:

Williams and Sarah stared at me, dumbstruck.

"What did you say?" Sarah whispered. I took a deep breath.

"Take me instead of Greg. I'll die in Greg's place, just let them go," I repeated. I have never been so scared in all my life, I realized belatedly. Lieutenant Williams smiled at me.

"You'll be willing to die a painful death, just so he doesn't die?" she asked. I tapped my foot impatiently. 

"But of course, what part do you not understand?" I asked angrily. Sarah raised an eyebrow.

"And you won't fuss?"

"No."

"You'll come quietly?"

"Yes."

"You won't try to escape?"

"No."

The women looked at each other and smiled.

"All right, if you insist."

Christine's POV:

I was shocked. I was speechless. I couldn't believe it. I took a step forward and was dimly aware I was standing on top of someone. Jenny had collapsed into a faint, and Kline had sat down, her mouth hanging open. I stared up at the three players in this untidy drama, and just barely heard the women accept his proposal. I lapsed into nothingness after that, after someone struck me across the head.

Kline's POV:

"No..." I whispered. I tried to stand, to beat those women into senselessness, but my legs wouldn't move. I saw a thug hit Christine with the piece of iron I had discarded earlier, Jenny faint, and I realized quickly that I was the only one left conscious. It didn't last for long. A man stepped forward, sneered at me, and then darkness.

Holmes's POV:

I lowered my head sadly, and was prepared to be knocked unconscious. I looked sadly at Watson one more time, and then darkness found me, as it had for them.

Ok, next chapter is called 'The Sacrifice'. So, who is going to get sacrificed? And what did you think of this chapter? Please review!


	9. The Sacrifice

I'm so so so so so so so sorry! I know I'm a hypocrite, with all my reviews saying that 'you finally got the next chapter up!', and I'm really sorry! With Christmas and all... and my good friend just had a major crisis in his life... and everything is really screwed up. I got sick, mom said that I spent far to much time on the computer... I promise, promise, promise to write as quickly as I can. But I have bad news. This is going to be my last story for a while. I really want to try my hand at something else, but I'm not going to stop writing these stories. I already have more stories planned for this. So enjoy my ninth chapter!

Chapter Nine: The Sacrifice

Watson's POV:

I groaned and rolled over, my cheek pressed up against the cold concrete. My eyes snapped open and I looked around.

We were still in the warehouse. Holmes was gone, however. Kline was next to me, her ankle and wrist both out of place. The bone poked through on her wrist. I found the entire scene nauseating. Christine, on the other hand, was a good twenty feet a way, curled up underneath some crates. I walked over to her, to see if she had woken up yet.

She wasn't awake, and she didn't look happy. Her black shirt had turned red around the arm, and I could see some blood around it. I fought the urge to throw up and shook her gently. 

Christine was alert almost instantly, propping herself up with her good arm. She bared her teeth in the moonlight that streamed from the window and looked up at me.

"Where is he?" she whispered. I didn't know why she whispered, and shook my head.

"Don't know?" I replied loudly. She raised a finger to her mouth, and rose unsteadily to her feet. I followed her back to where Kline was positioned. Christine nudged her with her foot to no avail. Sighing, she knelt down next to her.

"Kline? Hey Kline, Jason is here to see you," she muttered into the dead air. Kline's eyes snapped open instantly, and I couldn't help but laugh. I saw Christine crack a smile in the dark, and nudge Kline again.

"Works every time. Get up, we have work to do. They took him." Kline didn't need to be told who, and she clambered to her feet, only to fall down again. Her face showed the traces of pain, and I sat down next to her, concerned.

"What is wrong?" I said softly. Kline grasped at her ankle and bit her lip.

"I broke it in the fight. There is no way I'm getting out of here with this," she said, gesturing toward the offending ankle. I touched it gently, and hearing her gasp of pain, quickly withdrew my hand. I frowned and thought a moment.

"Christine, give me your shirt," I demanded. Christine seemed taken aback.

"Uh, I usually don't strip in front of people. Heck, I don't even strip," Christine whispered. I rubbed my eyes.

"Dummy. Part of it. Give me pieces. I need to make a brace. And," I thought aloud, "while you're at it, get me a piece of plank as well."

Christine frowned again, but made up her mind quickly. She tore the bottom parts of the shirt of in long strips and handed them to me. She used her right arm, her left arm hanging limply at her side. Kline smiled up at her.

"Nice mid-drift look. Really nice," Kline whispered happily. Christine glared at her and moved towards the old crates while I checked the pieces of cloth. She returned shortly, holding some dark pieces.

"These are the strongest, cleanest, and above all, driest pieces I could find," she whispered as she tossed them to me. I nodded quickly and placed them on two sides of Kline's ankle. 

"Ok, this is going to hurt really bad. Christine, take her hand and let her squeeze it so she doesn't tense up to much. I'm going to put your bone back in place on the count of three, all right?" I asked. Kline nodded and gripped Christine's hand. I took a deep breath.

"All right... one..." I slammed her bone back into place. Kline let out a miniscule scream, immediately cut off by Christine's insistent whispers. I tied the planks together with the cloth and smiled at Kline.

"Why didn't you wait until three?" she whispered in a shaky voice. Christine wretched her hand away.

"Yeah? My hand might still be intact otherwise," she simpered. I smiled again, proud that my nursing had worked.

"If I had waited until three, you would have tensed," I answered simply. I turned to Christine.

"What's up with your arm?" I asked. She picked it up with her other hand and let it fall again.

"Got stabbed."

"Let's get to work."

******************************************************************************************

After many small screams later, I managed to bandage Christine's arm properly. 

"Jeez, I knew you were a wuss, but come on," Kline teased. Christine pouted.

"Hey, you only had a broken bone. I was stabbed, give me a break," she replied angrily. She clapped her hands together and immediately winced. She grabbed Kline's hand and clapped her free hand together with hers.

"All right, we have to find him. Anyone awake to see where they took him?" she asked. I shook my head, and so did Christine. She groaned.

"Great. Well, let's do this the old fashioned way, shall we?" she asked. She reached a hand down her shirt. I gasped.

Christine pulled out a magnifying glass and grinned at my appalled look.

"Puh-leese. I'm not that bad. I don't have any pockets in my pants. Besides, my undergarments work just as well. Kline, you got the map and compass, just in case?" she asked. Kline smiled as I watched her hand.

"No, I don't keep my things in my bra. That is only Christine. I have pockets handy," she reassured me. I smiled timidly and watched as Christine stared at the ground. She picked up some soil all of a sudden and handed it to Kline.

"Black soil, fertile. That comes from the-" Kline cut her off.

"That comes from this area. We know that. Footprints?" she asked impatiently. Christine crawled on the ground a few feet, her nose practically pressed to the ground. Her frizz hair fell down her face, and she looked like some strange bloodhound. I suppressed a giggle.

"Um... that's us. Too blunt... high heels... small heel, blunt toe- that's her! Got her!" whispered Christine frantically. She peered at the ground, then frowned.

"Glasses. Where are my glasses?" she demanded. Kline frowned and reached into her pocket and pulled them out.

"Thought they were for reading only?" I asked. She didn't look at me as she put them in a precarious position at the end of her nose. Kline smiled at our friend.

"She won't answer you. She uses the glasses for extra magnifying purposes. It's only when the trail is pretty bad that she will have to use them," Kline whispered back at me. I nodded and frowned.

Christine continued to peer at the ground, and finally her head snapped up.

"Shoes. What kind of shoes was Sherlock wearing?" she snapped. I thought a moment.

"Dress ones. Why?" I asked. Christine turned her attention back to the ground, but she propped herself up on her heels.

"Here's where we came in. Here is the henchmen's footprints. But none of these are dress shoes. However, I'm sure that if we look up there," she said, pointing to the window, "we'll find his footprints with ease. And, knowing him, he was smart enough to leave some kind of trail. Even if he was unconscious, which he surely was," Christine thought aloud. I nodded, and we headed over to the window. 

We couldn't get up there unless we climbed the crates. Kline was in no position to do such a thing, and so Christine and I obliged. 

The crates were slippery underfoot, and I nearly plunged to the ground numerous times. Christine, on the other hand, moved carefully and quickly, and reached the window minutes before me. When I finally got there, she was already on the ground, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"Smart boy. I can see why you like him," she mumbled. I leaned closer to her barely audible voice.

"No... no... yes-yes-YES!" Christine yelled. She jumped down from the window, and landed on all fours. She ran out the door, leaving me and Kline to scramble after her.

She stopped in front of the window from the outside, and was staring at the ground.

"Fools. Absolute fools! This is a trail for children," Christine laughed. Kline raised an eyebrow at her seemingly insane persona.

"Uh, Christine, is their something you would like to tell us?" Kline asked carefully. Christine grinned.

"I've not gone insane, not yet at any rate. Up on the window there was a large amount of soil. Far to much for anybody to have on their shoes accidentally. That rules out Lieutenant Williams and Sarah. They would want to go undetected. That also rules out Mr. Watson. Even a drunk cannot accumulate that much mud. However, a person who knew they were going to be captured, and wanted to be followed, would leave a trail that even a stupid person would see instantly, but a smart and insane criminal may not. Sherlock had rubbed his shoes into soil, was knocked unconscious, and was dragged out the window. The soil showed it. Now, they got out using a ladder, the marks are clear here. See? Once out, he was dead weight. Lieutenant and Sarah may not be delicate, but they are hardly the strongest women. They ended up dragging him. These two lines here prove it. They are a bit irregular, but we can tell it's him because the soil is in certain places," pronounced Christine. Kline nodded, seeing at once what I did not.

"But- what if it's a trap? What if they're purposely leading us off the trail? HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?" I asked urgently. Christine rolled her eyes and began walking, leaving Kline to explain.

"She knows. She saw something up on the window. You can trust her," Kline soothed. I cracked up.

"Remember when I still lived here? Christine was always left to explain stuff to me, not you explaining things to me!" I laughed. Kline began laughing too.

"Well, I usual see things, and she pieces it together. This time she had to do both. Trust me, on normal circumstances, she would be left to explain things to you. But this isn't normal," Kline grinned. I smiled and we followed Christine down what I prayed was the right trail.

Holmes's POV:

My hands were tied sloppily to a wooden pole behind me, and my shirt was gone. Lieutenant Williams stood before me, with a whip in her hand. She had already used it.

"Now then, isn't this fun?" she drawled. I bit my lip, refusing to say anything.

She had been at this for the past fifteen minutes, the torture. She had whipped me numerous times, so many times that I couldn't even feel my chest anymore. I knew I was bleeding, but I didn't care. I knew Kline and Christine would come through. They should be able to follow the mud I had left on my shoes. If not, all was lost.

"Mr. Holmes, isn't this fun?" Williams asked again. I blinked and continued to stare off into space. Sarah, who stood off in a corner, snarled angrily.

"Just kill him, Lynn. Ripping out his heart should be twice as fun," she spat. Lieutenant Williams laughed.

"Ah, but I believe he would like to hear our reasons for doing the murders Sarah. He knows he will die, and I think he should have the pleasure of knowing our motives," Williams laughed. She grabbed my face with her hand and forced me to look at her.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Holmes?" she whispered. I stared at her and she let go.

"Very well, if you refuse to answer.... Sarah, the knife please." Sarah grinned and pulled out a small knife from her pocket. Williams held out her hand for it, and then fingered it.

"Such a pretty instrument, isn't it? Very unoriginal, I believe, but nonetheless, it works very well. If you refuse to answer me, I may have to use it," she warned. I fixed my gaze upon the broken window across from me. Williams growled heatedly.

"Very well. I hope you are tolerant of pain," she laughed. She flipped the dagger into the palm of her hand, and drew the blade across my chest. I closed my eyes to the immeasurable pain, and locked my jaw down, so I didn't not utter a sound. Lieutenant Williams laughed and did it again. And again. 

"Ready to listen, Mr. Holmes?" she asked. I stared at the knife. She smiled again.

"As you wish. Unfortunately, this is not all fun. All my other victims screamed. I'll tell you, but later you will scream.

"It began with my husband, of course. He was a drunk, as you already know. We had wed when we were very young, and very much in love. It was a glorious time. But after a while he grew bored with me, and turned to other women. It irritated me a great deal. One night I confronted him. He was bloody drunk, and he beat me many, many times. It went on like that for a year. But one night I could no longer stand it.

"He had come home with a young woman, and told me I could leave, that I was no longer of any use to him. I snapped. I slapped the woman and told her to leave. She did, of course. I'm not called Lieutenant Williams for nothing, after all. I faced my husband with anger, and when he began the beating, I grew very angry. We were in the kitchen, and he had just slammed me up against the drawer that held the knives in it. I pulled on out and stabbed him in the heart. He died instantly. 

"But that was far from the end. The murder looked poorly done, and poorly planned. As everyone knows, I must have order and neatness. So I decided that I would make an analogy. I cut out his heart, ripped it out is more like it. I decided to do that because it represented how he had ripped my heart out with his beatings.

"However, one drunk gone from the world is hardly an accomplishment. Sarah felt the same way, of course. We met when I was in her bookstore. She told me that her last boyfriend had been a drunk, and so we went off to kill him. And we did, ripping out his heart as I did with my husband.

"It went on like that for some time. And tonight we thought we found the perfect victim. You see, we knew who you really were when you confronted me in my home. And to murder one of the investigators fathers... it was perfect. But you found us, unfortunately. You interrupted us. And now our last victim won't be a drunk. So sad." Williams finished and continued to play with knife. I kept my calm and continued to stare at her. Sarah approached me.

"Aren't you scared?" she asked. I wanted to scream that I was (who wouldn't be), but I couldn't. That would play into their hands. I merely directed my gaze at her, and raised an eyebrow. This infuriated her.

"Lynn, he ain't scared! The wretch ain't scared!" she yelled. I smiled a bit. Sarah whirled around and slapped me.

"I'll teach you! Lynn, hand me the club," she snapped. Williams sighed and tossed her the long piece of wood.

"Not too hard, Sarah. We don't want to kill him straight away," she teased. Sarah smiled and raised the club even with my ribs. And then she swung it.

My ribs cracked straight, and I suppressed a scream. She did it again, and once again my ribs snapped evenly. This time I couldn't help it. I let loose with a long scream. Sarah laughed and hit my arm with the club, splintering the bone. I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of another scream, however, and clamped my jaw shut. Sarah continued to laugh, a hysterical sound. I closed my eyes and resigned myself to die.

"Nice place you got here, could use some flowers, but hey, can't have everything," came a sarcastic voice from a few feet away. I opened my eyes, and saw Kline and Watson standing there. I smiled.

"It's about time the cavalry got here," I shouted over to them. Kline grinned happily.

"We had some difficulties. Sorry," she shouted. I smiled at her. Then a gun being loaded made a small sound in the dank air. I turned my head and saw both Lieutenant Williams and Sarah pointing guns at my head. I stifled a small gasp of surprise.

"One more step, and your friend dies," snarled Williams. Sarah nodded. Kline's smile disappeared.

"Really? Don't think so, lady. Not on our watch," she snapped. Williams and Sarah smiled at her cruelly and turned their watchful eyes back towards me.

"Are you ready to die?" they asked simultaneously. I looked over their shoulders and watched as Kline and Watson both snuck towards me.

"No," I told them. They had made the fatal error of not tying my legs down, and I kicked them in the stomachs. They fell to the ground, and their guns went off. I struggled against my bonds, but they held tight. I watched as Kline kicked Sarah in the head, and Watson tripped Williams. Unfortunately for me, she shoved Watson aside and grabbed her gun and aimed it towards me again. She pulled back the hammer, and above me I heard some scream. 

"Oh... shoot," it said. I closed my eyes against the impact of the bullet, and the gun went off. A split second before, I heard the crates above me collapse. I didn't feel the bullet, which surprised me. I opened my eyes in time to see Watson crumble to the ground, her stomach bleeding severely. I yelled at her as loud as I could.

"WATSON!!" There was no response. I looked up from her body, and saw what was happening. 

Kline had tackled Sarah, who had also aimed her gun back at me, and was busy with her. I also saw Christine wrestling with Williams. The evidence showed that she had been up on the crates, and they had fallen and crashed into Williams before the gun went off. That was the only reason Watson was alive. I redirected my gaze towards her.

She had jumped in front of the gun, that much was clear. She sacrificed herself for me. My head grew foggy, my vision blurred, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

Kline's POV:

I had watched as Christine came crashing down on top of Williams, and I had tackled Sarah. We were locked in a fierce battle at the moment, I with Sarah, and Christine with Williams.

Sarah proved to be a good fighter right off the bat. She hit me in the face, and I felt my jaw snap. I promptly tackled her, and her head connected with the piles of broken wood. She stood up and smiled at me.

"Are you prepared to die?" she asked. I rolled my eyes.

"You really need some new catch phrases. You said that to Sherlock, and he isn't dead, now is he?" I asked, my jaw working painfully. Her eyes snapped open and she whirled around to face Sherlock.

"He isn't dead! He is supposed to be dead!" she whispered angrily. I took the opportunity to slam her back down on the ground. She gained the upper hand quickly enough, and slammed by head down on the ground three times. I winced in pain, and then slammed my foot into her gut. She screamed in surprise, and I hit her in the face. She lapsed into nothingness. 

Christine's POV:

I winced as I clambered off of Williams, for when I fell on her I had broken my wrist. Williams smiled up at me.

"Child, are you in pain. Let me relieve it for you!" she screamed, jumping up on the word relieve. She pulled out a knife from her waist band and slashed at me. I pulled my head out of the way, but her blade caught on my cheek. It scraped down it, and I clapped my good hand to my face. I removed it a second later, and saw the blood there. I glared at her and slammed my entire body into her, taking her down once more. I hit her a couple of times, and felt her hands wrap themselves around my throat. I yanked my neck from her hands and jumped up. She rose from the ground slowly, obviously tired. She grabbed a piece of the crate that had cracked when I fell, and slammed it across my ribs. I felt at least two of them crack and was ready to attack her again, when she fell to the ground. Kline stood behind her, holding a metal beam. 

"Looked as though you needed some help," she coughed. I smiled at her and looked over at Sherlock and Jenny.

"We definitely need medical help," I whispered, and then fell to the ground. I heard Kline do the same thing, and then I slipped into a void. 


	10. Why? A.K.A Watson

Hah! I have the tenth chapter up!! Joy!! Um... thanks for all the great reviews. I really appreciate it. I hope you all enjoyed my last chapter, I was kinda proud of it. Well, that's it. Just read the next chapter.

Chapter Ten: Why? A.K.A Watson

Holmes's POV:

I opened my eyes and blinked back the light. I closed my eyes again and thought back to what had happened, trying to remember.

Ah, yes. I had been tortured. Then something else had happened... 

I snapped up in my bed and looked around. 

"Watson! Where is she?" I shrieked. Instantly a girl was by my side.

"Sherlock! She's fine, sit down," she yelled, shoving me back down onto my bed. I nodded and slipped back into my sleep.

******************************************************************************************

She stood in front of me smiling. She reached out her hand to me. I took it, and instantly her white dress turned red. Blood started to pour from her mouth. I stepped back in horror. She fell to the ground and looked up at me.

"Why?"

******************************************************************************************

"Watson!" I screamed. The girl was by my side again, along with another in a wheelchair.

"Sherlock, please, calm down! Jenny is fine, just lay back. Don't make the doctors give you more morphine. Come on, it's ok, just lie down," the girl soothed. I smacked her away and jumped up, searching for Watson.

"Watson, where are you!" I yelled again. The girl in the wheelchair grabbed onto my arm and pulled me down. The other girl had gone somewhere... I didn't care. Where was Watson?

The other girl came back. She came with a man, someone I didn't recognize. The girl stood next to me and pulled my sleeve back. The man stepped forward, and I cried out as a sharp needle pierced my skin. And then the world went black.

************************************************************************************************* 

I took a deep breath and came out of my drugged slumber and looked around. I was in a hospital. That wasn't surprising. I turned my head and looked over to the side of the room.

Christine, the girl who had held me down when I was drugged, was sleeping in a chair, her arm in both a cast and sling. She had a book in her lap, and her reading glasses were falling off her nose. Kline was in a wheelchair, also asleep.

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes again. I thought back to what had happened. I had been taken by Williams and Sarah. They had tortured me, and then Watson... Watson had jumped in front of me when they fired the gun.

I cleared my throat quietly, and Christine's book went flying into the air. She snapped to attention, and her glasses fell into her hand. I smiled at her.

"A bit jumpy?" I asked hoarsely. She grinned and walked over to stand by my bedside.

"Tell me you're still not delusional," Christine begged. I groaned as it all came rushing back at me.

"What did I do, exactly? I didn't hurt anybody, did I?" I asked. Christine carefully lifted her chair and put down next the bed. She leaned back in it and thought a moment.

"I got a bruise from when you hit me, and you stepped on Kline's foot, I don't think she appreciated that. But other than that, you only hurt yourself," she told me casually. I nodded.

"Watson?"

"She hasn't waken up yet. Rather, she has, but she isn't staying awake. The white coats gave her lots of medication, morphine and such. You've been out for five days. At least, we wish you had been. But no, you had to go prancing about."

"Sorry."

"No biggie. What were you dreaming about, anyway?"

"Death. Lots and lots of death." Christine nodded and turned her head toward Kline and smiled briefly. I cleared my throat again (causing Christine to jump again) and thought for a moment.

"How serious were the injuries?" I asked. Christine's hand momentarily rubbed the side of her face, then she concentrated herself on me.

"Jenny is in serious condition. She was shot in the stomach, in some part of her anatomy. I haven't been allowed to take anatomy yet, that is a question for Kline. You, of course, are bruised and battered. And very delusional. Kline has two broken wrists, a broken ankle, a concussion, a broken jaw, and numerous cuts. Her and I were discharged three days ago," Christine told me. I glared at her.

"You're omitting some of the information. What about you?" I persisted. She leaned back into her chair and shrugged.

"Nothing horribly devastating. My left arm will never be the same, my muscles in the upper arm were destroyed. Not literally, I'm an actress. Couple of broken ribs, cuts..." she trailed off, her fingers running down her face once again. I leaned forward and yanked her face towards me. 

She had a long, vertical cut running down her cheek. The scab was gone, but you could still see the scar. She twisted away from me and grinned out the window.

"Battle scars. Gotta love 'em," she whispered. I smiled up at her and then refocused my attention to the task at hand.

"Williams and Sarah?" I asked. Christine whipped out of her chair and began pacing.

"Lieutenant Williams is in death row. Sarah is in jail for life, without possibility of parole," she said angrily. I raised an eyebrow at her.

"This is bad to you?" I asked softly. She laughed, and Kline woke up.

"Hey. Whatcha talking about?" she slurred. Christine smiled at her.

"Good afternoon Kline. We're discussing the sentence of Williams and Sarah," she told Kline bitterly. Kline's face froze, and slowly turned into a frown.

"Oh joy, a subject we all love," she muttered. I rubbed a hand down my face and looked over at the two angry girls.

"Could you please explain to me what is wrong?" I asked once again. Christine whirled around to face the window.

"Neither Kline or I believe in execution as a punishment. We believe that they should be thrown in jail for life, but not killed. But enough of that, Kline and I love to debate that. Would you like to see Jenny?" she said quickly. I nodded vigorously.

"Yes, yes I need to see her. Right away if it can be allowed," I answered anxiously. Kline nodded.

"Consider it done."

*************************************************************************************************

Watson was pale and twitchy. I now understood how she had felt when she had visited me in the hospital those many times. I reached out and touched her hand.

"Watson? Watson, are you alive?" I whispered. By the doorway, I saw Christine and Kline slowly walk away, sensing that this was something of a private moment.

"Watson, can you hear me?" I repeated. She didn't answer, and the only sound in the room was the rather annoying heart monitor.

"Very well. Then I'm going to talk anyway. I just have a few questions for you. Why did you do that? That foolhardy act of jumping in front of me. You could have gotten yourself killed! Why would you do such a thing? Why?" I asked in the silence of the room. As was expected, she didn't answer, didn't even move. I sighed.

"Watson, think of it now. It is... illogical, not rational. You couldn't know that Christine would fall at that exact second. You couldn't be sure that you wouldn't die, so why in the Lord's name did you do it?" I argued. Watson did not answer. I closed my eyes and waited.

Watson's POV:

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

I opened my eyes carefully into the brightness of yet another hospital room. The heart monitor was beeping, and someone was trying to stifle sobs...

_Wait_, I thought, _who the heck is crying?_

I looked to my right, and to my astonishment, Holmes was sitting there. One hand was covering his face, his other, cast laden arm in his lap. He looked horrible.

"Holmes, you look terrible. And what are you crying about?" I asked irritably. His head snapped up and he jumped from his chair. After staring at me for a minute, he moved towards my bed, bent his head towards me, and kissed me. After he had finished, I felt my lips twitch into a smile.

"Ok, what was that about? And you never did answer my question," I reminded him. Holmes smiled at me.

"You can be such a git sometimes, you know that, yes?" he asked. I rolled my eyes.

"That is twice that you have avoided my questions. And no, I'm never a git," I teased. Holmes collapsed back into his seat.

"First of all, I wasn't crying. I was sobbing. There is a difference, if somewhat slight. When you cry, you have water running down your face. Sobbing is a release of emotions that aren't in tears. It is more like shuddery gasps. Second, I kissed you because I'm happy you're alive," he said indifferently. I frowned.

"You can be such a dictionary at times. Crying, sobbing, same dif. And didn't Kline tell you I was alive? Don't tell me she played a prank and said I was in a coma. She does that sometimes," I scolded. I heard a gasp of astonishment from the door.

"I DO NOT!" came that familiar, if irritating voice. Then I heard someone else with a recognizable quickly shush her. Holmes rolled his eyes.

"You two may come in. Am I to assume you watched me kiss her?" he asked. Kline came in, pushed by Christine. They were both smiling sheepishly.

"Well, yeah, but it was her idea!" Kline accused. Christine gasped.

"Traitor! Er, that is to say, you would be if I had such a horrible idea," Christine recovered. Kline rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me, I'm not the hopeless romantic. That is your area of expertise. You said 'They'll kiss, it's bound to be cute, let's go see'! I wouldn't do something so cruel to a friend," Kline protested. Christine coughed in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

"What about poor Rachel? When she had a boyfriend? You watched them make out for an hour before making your presence known?" Christine counter attacked.

Holmes and I laughed and shook our heads as the two friends dueled it out. The final winner was Christine, who made a mention of some interesting blackmail pictures from her thirteenth birthday party.

After they had finished, they left Holmes and I alone again. We sat in silence for a few minutes, and I finally got the courage to talk.

"You were really worried, huh?" I questioned. Holmes laughed.

"Christine should of told you. I was panicking about you in my dreams, and when I woke up I was so bent on seeing you I hurt them. Of course I was worried. Don't be utterly foolish. I would hate to-to see you get killed," Holmes finished softly. I smiled at him, and beckoned him to come near to me.

He approached me carefully and sat at the edge of my bed. I wrapped my arms around him, and kissed him on the cheek.

"You're sweet, ya know?" I whispered into his ear. He kissed me hard on the lips.

"I can be."

Well, that was chapter ten. My mom grounded me from the computer, so I'm sorry you didn't get this chapter for a while. The next chapter is called Departure. I think you can figure out what it is about. Oh, and tell me now if you hate Kline and Christine. Cause if you don't tell me, they're in the next story, whether you like it or not! And it's poll time! Who do you like more, Kline or Christine. Please tell me in your review.


	11. Departure

Last chapter! Well, you've changed my mind. I will be writing here for a while longer. Longer than I had planned, anyway. Thanks for the comments, I really appreciate them. I have a question, though, for Miss MeibouMiyako. Are you on FF.Net at all times? Jeez, everytime I upload a new chapter, I get a review from you almost immediately! Ah, and now my recommendation's for stories. I put this in with every story. Here goes!

If you like my stories, read: Anything by Someday Sara, five stars. The Valentine Affair by Meryl Lynn, four stars, because she hasn't updated for a while. Untitled, by Rainbow, four stars. 

If you like stories with time travel, read: Crash by Cyber Dustbunny, five stars. The Evil One, by Shannon, four stars. Reunion Through the Centuries, by Cyber Dustbunny. Sequel to Crash. Only four stars **so far**. The Writings of Watson and Gerome, four stars. Love, Lies, and Murder, four stars.

If you like stories with reincarnation, read: All the Diamonds in Moscow, by Michelle Smith, five stars.

If you like stories with the original Holmes and Watson, read: Daughter of the Detective by Queen Hotaru, five stars. The Faulty Firework by Sherlock 2K, four stars. Sophia by Hannah Holmes, four stars.

If your story wasn't on here, it means I either haven't read it, or couldn't remember it. Sorry, I was working off the top of my head. If your story got less than five stars, it is either because you haven't finished it, and I can't rate properly when it isn't finished, or their was something in it that I didn't like. Remember, these are my ratings, and you may feel completely different about the subject. Anyway, eleventh chapter.

Chapter Eleven: Departure

Holmes's POV:

"I hate planes, I hate planes, I hate planes, I hate planes..." Watson mumbled incoherently. I smiled at her and rolled my eyes.

We were inside a cab that was taking us to the airport. Greg and Sophia had decided to stay home and tend to his wounds. Watson promptly snorted at that, saying that he wasn't hurt in the least, why should he get to stay home. 

Kline and Christine had planned to meet us there, but Kline was having minor problems with her wheelchair, so they couldn't come with us. Needless to say, whenever Kline crashed into a wall, Christine cracked up. Which resulted into her being chased by Kline.

The taxi pulled up on the edge of the sidewalk, and the driver turned around.

"That'll be twenty nine dollars," the driver snarled. I glared at him and pulled the crumbled money from my pockets. The man snatched it from my hands and counted it with grimy fingers. Then he smiled at me, and we were on our way.

I looked forward to seeing London again, and expressed my thoughts to Watson. She grinned at me.

"Ah, but don't you just love Michigan, Holmes? With all the murder and deceit?" she teased. I rolled my eyes.

"My darling Watson, as much as I love an intriguing problem to fill my time, I detest landing in the hospital every single time. Couldn't we have a case where the nurses didn't have to restrain one of us from going into another's room?" I asked. Watson shrugged.

"Now what would be the fun in that? I know you like that one nurse in London. Cindy? She helped out with the Marie case? I believe that when you finally woke up you were quite taken with her?" Watson questioned. I felt my face redden a bit.

"No, that was after we had kissed. You know I could never love another woman," I teased. Watson grinned.

"I don't know... you seem quite taken with Kline and Christine..." Watson hinted. I smiled at her.

"I don't think so. Just what I would need in my life. A girl who rushes into everything, and a girl who's so clouded in mystery it's a miracle you even know her name," I laughed. Watson laughed too. And then we heard a patronizing voice from behind us.

"Am I to assume you're talking about me?" she asked coolly. We turned to face an amused Christine. She was wearing her common all black outfit, but she had dressed up a bit more for the occasion. Watson gaped at her.

"Christine? Do I see... make up on your face?" she asked in an awed tone. Christine laughed.

"Kline insisted. You like?" she asked, twirling. Watson just laughed.

"The lip junk is all right, and so is everything else. I never thought I'd see you wear makeup though. I remember the one time that I wore it, you gave me a lecture that sent tears to my eyes, it was so boring," Watson joked. Christine laughed as well.

"It's lip gloss, first of all. I smacked Kline when she approached me with bright red lipstick. And the lecture was well earned. Do you know what that stuff will do to your pores? Egad, I should know. Theater makeup is so mundane," drawled Christine. I even laughed at this. I knew only to well. 

"Where is Kline?" I asked. Christine shrugged.

"She told me to step off, said she could navigate with a wheelchair just fine without me pushing her. I tried to tell her I couldn't push her if my life depended on it, but nooooo, she thought I wanted to," Christine complained. She poked her arm in disdain.

"Kline has to wear all her casts for nine months, so that should be fun. I look forward to being able to poke fun at her, and then being able to escape," Christine said suddenly. Then she fell forward, catching herself on my shoulder. Kline grinned up at us and then rolled the wheelchair forward as best as she could.

"Serves you right. Don't ever talk about me behind my back!" she exclaimed. Christine kicked at her as she dragged herself up right. Then she sneered at her friend.

"Only if you promise to do the same for me, Miss Benedict Arnold!" Christine snapped. Kline rolled her eyes.

"It happened one time! Once! Jeez, ever heard of forgive and forget?" Kline snapped back. Christine turned her back toward her and smiled at us.

"So, when does your plane leave?" she said gently. We could still hear Kline's protests over the noise of the terminal.

"In about ten minutes, I should say," Watson responded. Christine nodded.

"Well then, I guess- Kline, will you shut up already?- we'll just have to give you your presents now," Christine said calmly. I raised an eyebrow.

"What presents?" I asked suspiciously. Christine smiled, and moved aside as Kline rolled forward.

"Well, everyone deserves a reward for a job well done. Besides, you really don't think we spent half a day on my makeup, did you?" Christine asked gravely. I stepped back a bit.

"Well... not the whole time, maybe?" I said carefully. Christine glared at me. Kline shoved her aside.

"Puh-leese. We got these five minutes ago. Her mom had to hold her still while I put makeup on her," Kline atoned cheerfully. Christine growled.

"I'm not the bad when it comes to makeup. Drop it, will you? Anyway, we have presents for both of you. I hope you like them. Since it was MY money we spent," Christine told us, glaring at Kline. Kline shrugged and balanced multiple parcels on her casts.

"Merry Christmas!" announced Kline. Christine groaned and slapped her hand to her face. I smiled at her and looked at Kline.

"Christmas is a while off, don't you think?" I asked. Kline smiled happily.

"So?" Christine came next to me and whispered into my ear.

"She was given many dosages of morphine. Just ignore her," she whispered. I grinned and looked over at Kline, who did indeed look very drugged. Suddenly, an annoying voice came over the intercom.

"Flight 266 will now be leaving for London. Flight 266," heralded the voice. Watson's head shot up and she grabbed the bags and dashed towards Kline, giving her a brief hug, and then she gave one to Christine.

"See you guys later!" she sobbed, and then raced for the gate. I turned to Kline and knelt down beside her.

"Shall we see you again?" I asked. Kline grinned stupidly at me.

"Hey, sure, why not? I'll miss you, Sherlock," she said suddenly, quite sober for a minute. She wrapped her arms around me and hugged me. I tensed a bit, but relaxed after a second or two. She let go, and I was shocked to see some tears streaming down her face. She wiped them away as best as she could with her arms, and then leaned back in the wheelchair. I turned to Christine.

"It's been a pleasure to work with you," I said. She raised an eyebrow.

"It's been a pleasure getting tortured? It's been a pleasure having to deal with my eccentric ways? It's been a pleasure dealing with Kline here?" she asked sarcastically. I smiled at her.

"My, aren't we the cynical one today?" I mocked. She laughed.

"Nah, this is just how I deal with sadness. Look, it's been great... somehow. It's cool, you know? Working with Sherlock Holmes?" she asked. I smirked.

"I really wouldn't know. I work with myself all the time," I commented. 

"That could SO be taken the wrong way," Christine taunted. I rolled my eyes.

"You can be very much like a girl sometimes, you know that don't you?" I asked. Christine sighed.

"It's a curse."

"Flight 266, last call. Flight 266," the voice screeched. Christine frowned.

"You gotta go. Look-um, don't tell Jenny," she said. I frowned. She stood on her toes, and kissed me on the cheek. I stepped back.

"If Watson saw you, she'd kill you," I said simply. Christine shrugged.

"Hugs just don't seem to say it all. Get going now, and open your gifts on the plane. Get!" demanded Christine. With a final wave towards the pair, I picked up my bag and headed for the gate.

*************************************************************************************************

Watson breathed into a bag as we flew over the Atlantic Ocean. I sighed.

"It can't be that bad," I remarked. Watson coughed.

"You have no idea," she gagged. She continued to breath heavily into her bag, her chest rising and falling with each slight tremor in the plane. 

I turned my head to look out the window. The Atlantic Ocean glimmered in the sunlight, a painful reminder of what we were leaving behind in the United States. I doubted I would ever allow myself to return to Michigan, it was a horrible place that, but Kline and Christine were so kind. I could see why Watson was friends with them in the first place. Speaking of which...

"Watson, do you desire to open your present?" I asked. She leaned over and picked up the two poorly wrapped packages. She rattled them, and them stared at them suspiciously.

"What?" I asked. Watson sighed.

"I don't even want to imagine what Kline got me. Jeez, the couldn't even take the time to wrap them nicely?" Watson glowered. I leaned back in the uncomfortable seat.

"You heard what Kline said. It took them forever just to throw on some makeup on Christine..." I trailed off and touched my cheek where Christine had kissed me, praying it hadn't left a mark. Thankfully, it hadn't. Watson grinned at me.

"She kissed you, didn't she?" she asked. I jolted in my seat, causing some disturbance from behind me. After a moment, I turned to Watson.

"How'd you know?" I asked. Watson grinned again.

"I may not be a great detective, but even I could see that. You were oddly quiet when you got on the plane, and when you touched your cheek after the mention of makeup, it was obvious. Don't worry, I'm not jealous," Watson reassured me. I frowned.

"You don't think-"

"That she has a crush on you? No way. She's never hugged her guy friends. Always kisses them on the cheek. See, Kline doesn't do that because she has her boyfriends to spare kisses on. Christine doesn't even bother with boyfriends. See, Kline told me earlier last night that she would kiss you on the cheek, but she doesn't feel right about it. She has Jason-right now anyway, she'll have a new guy in another week- and she thinks hugs are enough. Now, Christine, she comes from the theater, where hugs and kisses are always passed around with ease," Watson explained. She saw my look, and took it for being upset.

"Oh, did I ruin your fantasy that another girl liked you?" she asked sadly. I laughed.

"No, I was just thinking about something. What do you mean that Kline will have another boyfriend in another week?" I asked. Watson giggled.

"Kline has a hit list. Except it's not for killing people, it's for dating them. Jason is a player, he'll get bored of her. How, I don't know, but I'm not sure he approves of the whole detective thing. Now, let's open these presents!" cried Watson. She tore happily at the paper of hers, the one from Kline, and pulled out a box.

"Let me see what's inside..." Watson mumbled to herself. She peered into the box, and laughed. She pulled out what the American's call 'barf bags'. I smiled.

"She knows you well, yes?" I asked. Watson chuckled.

"Yeah, I should say so. Kline always gets us gag gifts. What's yours?" she asked. I closed my eyes.

"I'm afraid to look."

"Sissy. Give it here."

I tossed the box to Watson, and she pulled off the wrapping paper carefully. There was a book underneath the paper, and she laughed at what she saw. I frowned.

"What?" I asked. Watson leaned forward in her seat, and tossed me the book, she was laughing to hard to tell me anything. I looked at the cover of the book and groaned.

"How appropriate. More books about Sherlock Holmes," I said, looking at the titles. Sherlock Holmes and the Red Demon, Sherlock Holmes and the Ice Palace Murders, Sherlock Holmes and the Rune Stone Mystery, and finally, The Monster of St. Marylebone. Watson was wheezing now, and clutching at her side. I glared at her.

"Remind me to hurt Miss Kline should we ever meet again," I mumbled. Watson straightened and eyed Christine's gift.

"Christine always gives nice gifts. Sweet, anyway. This time, though, she might be a bit mischievous," Watson warned me. She began unwrapping her present carefully, and when she pulled back the last of the paper, she frowned. 

There were two boxes. It was quickly explained, however, by the note card on top of one. In Christine's sloppy cursive, it said how Kline had forgotten this present. Watson sighed and unwrapped Christine's first. It was a set of floppy disks, pencils, paper, and... a laptop?

Watson gasped in surprise. "A laptop? How in the world did she afford this? And what is with the writing things?" Watson muttered. I shrugged.

"Is their a note to explain?" I asked. Watson pulled back the cover of the laptop. There, in neater cursive, lay a note.

_Jenny,_

You're right, I can't afford a laptop. I don't even have a job! My parent's bought this for me a year ago, and I never used it. Me and technology, we don't go well together. Besides, with my parents getting a divorce, I don't want it. So, it's best for you. And the writing materials? Easily explained. Dr. John H. Watson always wrote of his tales about Sherlock Holmes. Why not you? You were always a good fiction writer in school, and I don't see why you can't write on your best friend.

Maybe we'll see each other in the future, but it doesn't look like it. Kline and I were offered a case early this morning by a widow, and we'll be getting to work soon enough. Should be interesting, me without use of my arm, and Kline in a wheelchair. I'll e-mail you the results. My e-mail address is spygurl_ashling@aol.com. 

Forever a friend, 

Christine Penninger

"Well, that certainly explains it," Watson announced. I nodded. I was a bit amused by the writing thing, as I would love to see Watson's tales about me. Hopefully, they wouldn't receive the same amount of praise my greatx3 grandfather gave the original Watson. Meaning none. Watson nudged me.

"I'm going to open my second gift, care to watch?" she asked. I nodded. Kline's gifts were always worth seeing. She shredded the paper and opened the box inside. Immediately, she groaned. 

"What?"

Watson pulled out a black ladies underclothing, and a magnifying glass. (A/N: Bra and magnifying glass, for those who don't understand that). She groaned again.

"Why me, Lord?" she asked prayerfully. I stared at her.

"Is their a story to go behind that?" I asked. Watson closed her eyes.

"You don't want to know. It has to deal with Christine on the night of the fight," she mumbled into her hands. I smiled and poked a finger at the undergarment.

"Well, at least you have an extra," I said helpfully.

"Holmes!"

"What?!"

"Just open yours. Betcha your letter is sealed with a kiss!"

"Shut up, will you."

I inspected Christine's gift thoughtfully. I wondered what it could be. I peeled back the black wrapping paper (A/N: What, were expecting another color?) and opened the small box inside. 

A simple ring lay in the box, and Watson gave off a gasp of surprise.

"Does this mean something to you?" I asked. "Besides marriage?" Watson nodded frantically.

"This is the ring that was given to her by a good friend. He was killed a long time ago, and she said she wouldn't give it to anyone unless they were a true friend. And a guy," she added as an afterthought. I glanced at the edges of the ring, and saw small letters engraved there. Friends 4ever, it said. Watson grinned.

"Well, at least this destroys your idea of her having a crush on you," she proclaimed. 

"I don't know. It seems to confirm it to me."

"Gosh, could you be anymore like a guy. If Christine says you're a friend, that's all you are. Read the note," demanded Watson. Indeed, on the bottom of the box lay a note. 

"Do you mind if I read it silently first?" I asked. Watson shrugged.

"Don't care."

The letter read as followed:

__

Sherlock,

Well, Jenny has probably told you the whole history of my gift by now. Not surprising, she bugged me to give it to seventy other guys. But it seemed better for you. Don't ask me why, my mind is weird.

Now, Jen has probably told you I have a crush on you (or you think that), but let me make this clear: I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU! You're a friend, and that is all. Ok, I might have had a mild crush on you for a few days, but that faded quickly, and my feelings toward you became friendly, not lovey-dovey. Hey, even Kline had a crush on you for a few days. Not like she'll admit that. Anyway...

It was great working with you, and I'm going to miss you a lot. You and Jen (and Kline, although she can be pretty annoying) are the best friends I've ever had. Rachel and Kelsey are great, but they're kind of blonde. The case was hard, both mentally, and for me physically. You know me, weak and scrawny. I'm sure you had a fun time with it though. Fun meaning terrifying, heart wrenching, and mentally boggling. So, inform me of any other cases that come up, k? I'd kill to hear about them.

Gotta go, the car is pulling up to the airport!

Always,

Christine Penninger

I tore my eyes away from the paper and looked at numerous pictures that had been included in the note, along with some of Watson in her younger years. The pictures were of Christine and Kline, in various situations. My favorite's, however, were the individual ones.

The individual one of Kline was quite nice, actually. She was standing up, and leaning against a wall. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were sparkling. She was wearing a rather low cut dress, and the skirt part was long. She smiled happily at the camera.

Their were two individuals of Christine, one with her having brown hair (presumably her original color), and one with red. The brown haired one was of her reading a book, sitting in a blue, dirty chair. Her glasses were non-existent in this photo, meaning they probably didn't appear until later in her life. The one of her with red hair was very nice. She was sitting on a stairway, but not quite. Not on the stairs, but on the ledge. Her legs were folded up beneath her, and her hair was actually smooth, not frizzy. She was wearing a black dress, and she didn't smile. I looked on the back for an explanation, but received none. I showed them to Watson and asked her my questions.

"Why isn't she smiling? Oh, Christine is camera shy. She hates camera's, and it's a miracle if you can get her in front of one. Hey, what is that picture? Oh-no. They didn't!" she cried. I pulled out the picture in question, and began laughing.

There was Watson, her head caught in between two rails of a stairway railing, a sucker stuck in her hair, and her butt in the air.

"KLINE! I'LL KILL YOU!"

*************************************************************************************************

Well, that is the end folks! Look for the next one, 'Splendor of the Stars', coming out after I turn in five years worth of homework. But I have a lot of research to do, and I would appreciate it if someone could answer the following questions.

1)What is an airport in London like?

2)What are some major theater's in London? Or outside of London?

3)What did you think of this story? Best yet? Worst yet? Second best?

4)Kline and Christine? What about them? I tried to keep them neutral characters, but look at where that led. 

5)Any improvements I should/could make?

6)What do you, the reader, think of my stories?

That is all, look for my next story, and REVIEW THIS ONE!


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